


Inertia

by foryouandbits



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Inter-Dimensional Travel, Canon typical alcohol use, Happy Ending, Hockey typical violence, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Jack Zimmermann's Overdose, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Slow Burn, alternate universe character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 62,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23560390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foryouandbits/pseuds/foryouandbits
Summary: At the age of seven, Eric Bittle is tackled so hard in peewee football, it feels as though he's been knocked into another dimension. At the encouragement of his father, he avoids contact sports until he receives a scholarship to play hockey at Samwell University. The result is the same: every check on the ice hurts so much that Eric hallucinates another world. Eric spends the rest of his freshman year attempting to prove himself to his captain and his coaches. He questions his worth, his talent, and his sanity, and in his search for answers, he uncovers long-hidden secrets that change everything he has ever known.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 90
Kudos: 128
Collections: Going Out With A Big Bang 2020





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please don't let the tags scare you - most of them are regarding Jack's overdose that happens prior to the events of the story, and with many inter-dimensional travel fics, there are situations where a character from another universe moves to a different one because the previous person died. All of those events happened prior to the story and are mentioned in passing, but I want to make it known in case that's squicky for you.
> 
> And obviously now that the comic is over some of these events may be out of date, but this was written well before the end.
> 
> The fantastic art was done by [RandonNoteForFutureReference](https://randomnoteforfuturereference.tumblr.com/) and is AMAZING!

It was one of those late summer days that served as a reminder that autumn was on its way, and the relentless beat of the sun wouldn't last forever. The reprieve from the heat meant there were fewer restrictions for physical activity, which was perfect for Dicky's very first tackle football game. Suzie said Rick was going too hard on the kids — this was the eight and under league, not his high schoolers — but they were good kids. The two quarterbacks could actually throw the ball with acceptable precision, and Dicky, despite his size, had great hand-eye coordination. 

Rick stood on the sidelines while his assistant coach Darren lined up his players for the kick off. Rick held in his laughter as the football was kicked from the tee directly into the visiting team's bench, causing several kids to yell in surprise and the opposing coach to shake his head. Yeah, these were definitely not his high schoolers. Darren stayed on the field to line up the offense for the first play of the game. Rick knew he shouldn't play favorites, but he felt a surge of pride as Dicky lined up in front of him and waved.

"Pay attention to the quarterback, Junior," called Rick. Dicky's face turned resolute beneath his helmet and he looked toward the quarterback; the tough face was adorable. Since he had a May birthday he was one of the youngest kids, seven and just a few months, but even so he was definitely the smallest player on the team. Rick hoped puberty would correct that issue, but Rick had been stocky his whole life and he worried Dicky would take after his mother instead. If he stayed this way he'd have to learn to be speedy rather than strong, which was why Rick stuck him on wide receiver and hoped he'd use that speed to run faster than the other boys.

The quarterback received the snap and the pocket began to dissolve right away, but he was able to throw it to Dicky before someone got a hold of him. Dicky caught it, causing Suzie to yell "NICE!" from somewhere behind the bench. Rick glanced over his shoulder and Suzie was jumping and yelling, the video camera in her hand and a wide smile on her face. Rick turned back to the play. Dicky was close to a first down but had a defensive back on him. The defensive back dove for a tackle and grabbed Dicky by the legs, and Dicky fell to the side.

It happened very fast. The defensive back wrapped his arms around Dicky's legs. Dicky began to fall with the ball secured in his arm. Then, he disappeared.

Rick blinked and Dicky was back, but he was on the ground, screaming. Rick's insides went cold, much too cold for such a warm day. The screams were blood-curdling, like Dicky had been tackled off a building and broke all his bones on impact. The field went silent on both sides and Rick pushed Julian the physical therapy student toward Dicky; Julian ran over and began to check the still-screaming boy for injuries. Rick didn't want to look back at Suzie. He'd just seen elation on her face and did not want to see the terror that must have replaced it, because he could feel it himself. Everything was quiet, the players were on their knees with their helmets off, and Rick could feel his heart beating in his chest as he waited for news.

Julian looked over and shrugged his shoulders. Dicky's screams had subsided into gut-wrenching wails. His helmet had been removed and Rick could see his face, which just a few seconds before had been stern and resolute, focused on the game, but was now bright red and full of tears. Rick finally looked at Suzie. The camera was on the ground and her hands were over her mouth. She caught eyes with him and he nodded. She rushed forward and scooped Dicky off the ground; even at her size she could still pick him up. 

They'd fought about this before the season started. Dicky was too little. He might have been the right age but he was so much smaller than everyone else that maybe he should play another year of flag football before they switched him to a tackle league. Rick insisted Dicky could handle it, but there he was, being carried off the field by his mother after his very first tackle.

"I don't know, Coach," said Julian when he returned to the bench. "There wasn't anything wrong with him. I told Mrs. Bittle to take him to the emergency room just in case I missed something, but… I think he was just scared."

"I think so too," said Rick, and he searched for Suzie. She'd gotten Dicky into the car and from the look of it, he was still crying but no longer wailing. He watched as she ran her fingers through his shaggy blond hair and kissed his forehead. She said something to him and he nodded, his mouth a deep frown, his large brown eyes red and wet. After she closed the door she looked back at Rick and nodded. Their boy was okay.

***

When Rick arrived home Dicky was asleep in his bed, turned on his front like always, his blanket over his head. All Rick could see was a tuft of blond hair and Senor Bunny's ears. "We were going to come straight home," said Suzie after Rick returned to the kitchen, "but he settled down on the way so I got him an ice cream cone from the Dairy Queen. He took a bath and I checked him out. He's got a mark on him, like maybe his pads scratched him open when he fell? But that doesn't explain why he was screaming so loud. It wasn't even bleeding, so I don't —"

"A scratch?" Rick asked.

"Yeah, maybe two or three inches long. Almost like a fingernail scratch. I don't know."

Rick clenched his teeth together and began looking around the countertop. "Where's the camera?"

"Don't tell me you want to watch him get hit?" Suzie asked, her voice high with surprise.

"I just want to see it again, maybe he landed wrong."

"These aren't your high schoolers, Rick. You're not going to show him tape and tell him how to improve for next time. He's seven years old and he's the weight of a kindergartener. I told you he shouldn't be playing tackle football yet, but you had to volunteer to coach —"

"No, Suzie, I agree with you," said Rick. 

Suzie stepped back, confused. "Really? I was expecting more of a fight than that. I had a whole speech prepared."

"I know you did, sweetpea," said Rick, and he pulled her in so he could kiss her temple. "I agree with you. Let's pull him out of football and get him enrolled in something with no contact. I don't know, baseball or something."

"Take him out of football completely?" Suzie asked. "Are you sure? You've been saying since I was pregnant how excited you are to have him play at Georgia like you did. You planned out his draft class and everything."

Rick looked at his wife. She had tears in her eyes, like Dicky had on the field. What she said was true; he'd been planning Dicky's road to the NFL since the doctor told them they were having a boy, but the decision had been made the moment Dicky hit the ground. Rick tried to keep the loss of it inside rather than let Suzie see how much it hurt.

"I know," was all he said. "I'm going to watch the tape."

"Okay, honey," she said. "We'll talk about this later. I'll ask Dicky what he wants to do when he wakes up."

Rick took the video camera into the living room and, with some difficulty, hooked it up to the TV. The video camera was Suzie's idea and he had no idea how to work it, or if he could even isolate the moment he was searching for. He figured out how to rewind and fast forward. There was only about five minutes of footage before the hit, which he played over and over again.

He'd been sure of it on the field. Dicky was gone. It may have only been a moment, the duration of a blink, but he knew it was there. He couldn't pinpoint it on the camera, but after several minutes of rewinding and playing and pausing, there it was. Just a frame, but there it was. The opposing defender was on the ground, his face scrunched up in the tackle, his arms wrapped around nothing. The space where Dicky had been was empty. Rick sat back and put his hand over his mouth. 

"Shit," he said.


	2. Chapter One

Eric Bittle stood in front of Faber Ice Arena, clutching his Samwell Men's Hockey bag in his hands as he looked at the building that would be his home ice rink for the next four years. He'd been here already but that was just for orientation and equipment distribution, which only took an hour before he returned to the dorm without setting foot on the ice. Today was the first on-ice practice and he was excited, to say the least. 

There was a lot to be nervous about as well. He had no idea how he lucked out to both get a spot on this team and a scholarship to boot, but it was fortunate because there was no way his family could afford out-of-state tuition without it. He was determined to make a name for himself here among people who'd been playing since before they even started school, or people who'd played in Juniors and could have been drafted had they not gone the college route. Three seasons of no-contact club hockey in Georgia meant he was starting at a disadvantage, although he was most nervous about the contact part of D1 hockey. He still vividly remembered the searing pain and resulting nightmares from his first tackle in peewee hockey at the age of seven, and he hadn't been hit since then. It wasn't going to stop him, though. Nothing was going to stop him.

He approached the entrance of the gorgeous square building with a half-circle protrusion of windows that brought sunlight onto the ice. He'd seen the rink in person just twice, once during his taddy tour the previous spring and during yesterday's building tour, but he'd been staring at pictures for months, ever since he signed his contract. He wanted to see it from ice level, but when he reached out a hand to open the front door and pulled, nothing happened. He tried the next door over, and then the next.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," he muttered as he tried the final door. All of them were locked. He covered his peripheral vision with his hands and peered in through the window, but there was no one around. They'd said seven o'clock, and it was seven o'clock on the dot as he checked his phone. He must have misheard the time and was either very early or very late.

A shadow beyond the second set of doors caught his attention and he banged loudly. The shadow moved and then a person appeared, confused. From his clothes, Eric guessed he was a custodian. He looked Eric up and down before he propped open the first door and then opened the one in front of Eric.

"Who're you?" he asked.

"I'm Eric Bittle," Eric said. "Who are you?"

"I'm Jerry. Are you —" Jerry's eyes landed on Eric's red and white duffel bag. "You on the team?"

"Yes," said Eric with a frown. Jerry looked at him with skepticism.

"You're a little small to be playing hockey, aren't you? If you're looking for the high schooler's practice, it's not until the weekend."

"No, I'm Eric Bittle and I'm on the hockey team. The Samwell team. Where is everyone?"

"In the locker room. This is the general entrance for spectators. You want the team entrance in the back of the building."

Jerry made to close the door and Eric grabbed the handle. "Wait, can't I come in this way and go to the locker room?"

"Not easily. Go to the back, you'll be right there." 

Jerry grabbed the handle with force and shut the door. Eric groaned. It was after seven now and he was officially late. He turned and ran down the twenty steps to the sidewalk, and then sprinted around the side of the building to another set of stairs near the loading dock. He ran into the building, where he heard voices. This was encouraging, but he was still late, so he quickly but quietly scooted by the Coaches' office and through the hall to the locker room.

"You're late," said a voice as Eric dropped his bag into his stall. He looked to his right and there was the team captain, mostly dressed in his gear. His dark hair flopped low over his forehead but it didn't detract from the judgment in his blue eyes. Eric's eyes glanced up to the nameplate above the boy — Jack Zimmermann. 

"Sorry," said Eric. "I went to the front entrance and all the doors were locked."

"We told you to come to the back entrance for practice," said Jack.

"Sorry," Eric said again.

"Hurry up, most of the team is on the ice already." 

Jack pulled his practice jersey over his head and picked up his helmet and stick before he left the room. Eric swallowed hard as he pulled all of his equipment out of his bag; that was not exactly the impression he was looking to make to start his college hockey career on the right foot.

He dressed as quickly as possible and joined the team on the ice. Some of the boys were already skating or juggling pucks, but most of the team was still on the bench waiting for direction. Eric sat on the end of the bench, breathing hard, and hoped nobody would notice that he was suddenly there when he hadn't been before. A coach wearing a red Samwell zip-up jacket skated to the bench. He had a whistle around his neck and a clipboard in his hand. He began looking at the boys on the bench in comparison to the list on his clipboard. While he did, the person right next to Eric looked over.

"Oh hey, you're… what's your name again?" he asked. 

Eric looked at him. He was so tall it felt like looking at a statue in a museum even if they were both sitting. He had eyes the same color as Jack but unlike Jack, this boy was not angered by Eric's presence. "I'm Eric Bittle," he said.

"Oh, right, you're that kid from Florida."

"Georgia," said Eric.

"Right. I'm Holster. This here is my D partner, Ransom."

Eric looked past Holster with some difficulty. The boy named Ransom leaned forward and waved. He was shorter than Holster but he was still tall. Everyone was very tall. The other kids from Eric's club hockey team were not this tall. No one was this wide either. Holster said Ransom was his defensive partner, which meant these two giants were in charge of preventing Eric from scoring. That was terrifying.

"Hi," said Eric, and his voice has gone squeaky with intimidation.

"Did you say Eric Bittle?" Ransom asked. Eric nodded. "Yeah, that's not going to work. Bittle. Bitter? Bitsy? Bitty?"

"Bitty," confirmed Holster before he put his arm around Eric and pulled him close. Eric let out a squeak as he was shoved helmet-first into a chest protector. "You're Bitty now."

"Okay," said Bitty.

"'Swawesome," said Holster, who did not let go of Bitty until the coach blew his whistle. 

"All right, on the ice! Laps first, let's warm up." 

Bitty hopped onto the ice with the others and darted forward at the next whistle. He might have gone to the wrong door, and he might have already made a poor impression on his captain, but laps were easy, and by lap four he was ahead of the pack by the length of a stick. He glanced behind him; the next closest player was Jack, and that made him feel good. He looked forward again and passed the coach with the whistle.

"Nice, Bittle," the coach said, and Bitty allowed himself a smile.

The first practice was short and simple, and Bitty felt his confidence boosting at the end of every drill. Opening laps weren't a race, but by the time Coach Murray had them move on, he was half a rink ahead of Jack. Coach Murray complimented his stick handling, and then his edgework, and finally his agility around the faceoff dots. Bitty forced the smile under the surface when Ransom elbowed him on the way to the showers. 

"Look at you, Bitty," Ransom said. "Who knew they did hockey so well down in the South?"

"Thanks, Ransom. We didn't really do much hockey today, though. It was mostly just…skating. I know how to skate."

"Still, being able to skate that well when it's hot as balls out all the time? I think that's pretty cool."

"That's mostly from figure skating, though," said Bitty. "I did that before I joined hockey."

"Yeah?" asked Holster, appearing on Bitty's other side as they crossed into the locker room and headed to their stalls; Holster took a detour so he wouldn't step on the giant S that was printed on the floor. "Can you do jumps and shit?"

"Probably not in hockey skates, but yeah, I can," said Bitty.

"That's sweet," said Holster. "You'll have to show us when we get back on the ice on Thursday."

"Are we not on the ice tomorrow?" Bitty asked. He sat down in his stall and removed his helmet.

"Nope, tomorrow we lift weights." 

Bitty frowned.

"Perfect time to get some meat on your bones," said Holster, and he rubbed his glove over Bitty's face, who grimaced and groaned in return. He grabbed the back of his jersey and pulled it over his head. As he threw it into the hamper he saw Jack return, looking just as angry as when Bitty entered five minutes late that morning. 

After a shower, Ransom and Holster walked him out through the door to the docks and back toward campus. "Where d'you live?" Holster asked when they crossed the river. Bitty pointed to the south.

"I'm down in Willard," said Bitty.

"Oh, we're in the Haus," said Holster and he pointed forward down Bristol Street. "I think Shitty's got a taddy tour set up sometime this weekend? Next weekend? I don't know, but you're not allowed in until we can trust you to not be a douchebag."

Bitty frowned. "I'm not a douchebag."

"Everyone's got a probationary period," said Ransom. "You should meet us as Commons for breakfast tomorrow. Six-thirty?"

"Sure. See you then!" said Bitty and he turned right onto River Street to return to his dorm. 

He looked up and slowed his steps. It was a warm day but not hot like it had been in Georgia when he left. It was lunchtime, so the sun had reached the apex of the sky, and with Bitty facing south he could feel it shining down on him. This was how summer should be, pleasant and warm, perfect for T-shirts and shorts without feeling like every step was difficult due to thick humidity. Bitty took his time to return to the East Quad, his eyes darting around at the old buildings that made up the school.

There were a lot of reasons he wanted to come to Samwell. The scholarship made the decision easy, but the scholarship came after his application, and his decision to apply to Samwell rather than Georgia went against the advice of his father. His grades and test scores were good enough to get an academic scholarship in-state, but after his father took him on an unofficial campus tour of the University of Georgia, he knew going there meant living the same life he'd always lived, just twenty minutes down the road. Samwell was far enough away that he could start over, separate himself from the people he'd always known, and become who he really was meant to be. It didn't hurt that the campus was gorgeous. 

He passed the East Quad and kept his focus on the bridges that arched over the Samwell river. Since hockey conditioning started three weeks before freshman orientation, the campus was nearly empty. River Street was still a main thoroughfare to the surrounding suburbs, but Bitty could hear the babble of the river between the passing of cars and the chatter of students. He followed the water all the way down to the history buildings, where campus ended and the river curved as it headed down into the southern suburbs of Boston. He crossed the pedestrian bridge and onto the gravel footpath that led to what the brochure had called the Pond, but from his brief exploration the day he moved in, it looked much more like a lake than anything else. 

Bitty stopped at the shore of the Pond and scanned the area; the buildings were made of stone and even despite updates they felt like they were a hundred years old. In the shadow of the buildings, Bitty felt like he was part of something bigger than himself, bigger than Madison, Georgia and the narrow minded views of people who had never traveled from it. He felt connected to something huge, where possibility was endless. 

He turned back to the water. He was going to do great things here; he could feel it.

***

Weight training was less terrifying than it seemed when Holster first mentioned it in the locker room, but Bitty was well aware that his weights were significantly smaller than those of the other boys on the team. The strength and conditioning trainer said Bitty could put on muscle if he kept at it, but his advantage was his speed, and putting on too much weight would just be a detriment to his strengths. It made Bitty feel better about moving the notch in the leg press several plates after Holster left the machine. 

They returned to the ice on Thursday after team breakfast in Commons. Bitty was excited to start line drills — while stick handling and accuracy were important, he just wanted to play hockey already. The upperclassmen stayed on the left side of the red line while Bitty, the other frogs, the sophomores, and their captain Jack stayed on the right to determine line combinations. There was only one center between the freshman and sophomore classes, so Jack centered a line with Bitty on the right and Pacer Wicks on the left. Ransom and Holster, both sophomores, made up one of the two d-pairs among the underclassmen. Bitty stood on the edge of a faceoff circle, his stick down and his eyes on Holster, who was closest to him. 

Jack passed the puck between his legs to Bitty, who skated toward the goal and away from Holster. He made it around the back of the goal and looked to see if Jack or Wicky was open, but Wicky was covered by Ransom and he couldn't see Jack right away. As he headed to the top of the zone, suddenly Jack yelled, "BITTLE, HEADS UP!"

Bitty froze, the puck sailing away from him, and then Holster hit him hard. He could feel the check directly in his chest, like being hit from the side somehow caused his body to split in half lengthwise. The pain was sudden and sharp. Bitty cried out and put his hand to his sternum to ensure it was still there and that half his body hadn't been torn away. It was still there. He hit the ice and began shaking, the pain radiating out to his extremities. He opened his eyes and Faber was empty, as if he'd passed out and everyone else had gone home.

The pain began to subside slightly so he could focus on something other than his chest. He looked around. The morning light still came in from the east window, so not that much time could have passed since he fell over, and it was incredibly rude that they just left him there by himself. With a hand still clutched to his chest, he turned over and then saw a boy with platinum blond hair at the opposite faceoff dot, sliding a shovel along the ice to pick up leftover snow. He had earbuds in, but looked up when Bitty turned.

The boy was attractive. He was probably a student, guessing by his age. He wore hockey skates and a red Samwell Athletics jacket. His face flushed in all of the right areas when his eyes connected with Bitty's.

"Eric?" he asked.

Bitty didn't know how this boy knew his name. Bitty attempted to speak but the pain seared hot again in his chest and he felt a tug at his waist, like someone had lassoed him and pulled him backward. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the crescendo of pain to subside; it took to the count of five before it tapered off, and he finally opened his eyes.

He was lying on the ice where Holster had checked him, and Coach Murray was standing above him. "You okay?" Murray asked.

Bitty could feel himself shaking. His eyes darted around; Jack, Ransom, and Holster were also standing around him. Jack had his head in his hands and Holster said something to Ransom that Bitty couldn't hear over the chattering of his teeth. With the pain now reduced to a throbbing ache, Bitty felt fear and shame roll in. He had definitely seen the attractive blond boy on the other side of the ice. The team was not there. He had been alone in Faber and writhing in agony, but that vision began to feel like a horrible memory, and he realized that he'd taken his very first check in his collegiate hockey career, and the result was a shaking, broken mess on the ice with his coach and captain looking on in disappointment.

"I'm fine," he said quickly, but even he could hear the lie in his voice. He swallowed hard. "If you just slide me on down to the bench, I'll be just fine, Coach."

"Come on, son," said Coach Murray. "Get on up. You're good." 

Coach put an arm underneath Bitty and hoisted him up. Bitty forced himself to comply, but he could still feel the ache in his chest, which throbbed harder as he sat up. He couldn't control his shaking and it was embarrassing. He wanted to stop shaking. There was no reason he needed to shake at all. The check had hurt, but it was a memory now, and all it did was cause him to hallucinate a different Faber, at a different time, with some random boy he'd never met shoveling snow off the ice.

He removed his helmet at the bench and sprayed water in his face.

"Hit the showers and go home," said Coach Murray. "We'll see you back tomorrow and we'll work on it again." 

"Okay, Coach," said Bitty, his voice sounding very distant as he tried to repicture what he'd just seen. It was fading fast, like the ache in his chest. "I'm fine. I'm fine."

Bitty repeated it until he reached the locker room. He sat in his stall and began to methodically remove his gear — skates, jersey, shorts, socks, pads, under armour — and grabbed a clean towel to wrap around his waist on the way to the showers. He passed a mirror and paused. He was sweaty despite the short amount of time he'd actually spent on the ice. His cheeks were flushed bright red and the shaking was visible from here. He looked at his chest and carefully poked at his sternum with a finger. It wasn't sore, but there was a visible mark, like a nail scratch. He dragged a fingernail over his collarbone and left behind the same red line. He looked at himself in the eyes and that was all he needed to confirm what had happened: he looked scared out of his mind.

"You're fine," he said to himself, but he didn't listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of Bitty's hallucinations echo a different AU I've written. This one with the attractive blond boy is from [Tim.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8297638)


	3. Chapter Two

Bitty survived conditioning with some strategic avoidance of the larger players on the team and some help from Ransom and Holster. Most practices were easy — Bitty was able to keep up with the weightlifting that he'd been assigned and he was able to provide insightful commentary during tape review — but the Monday scrimmages were what he feared every week. Despite his progress off ice, Bitty had been placed on the fourth line with no promises that he would see a lot of ice time, not unless he could improve his game by the time the season started the first weekend in November.

The weather was just starting to turn toward fall, and Bitty was already in his winter coat as he accompanied Ransom and Holster to the post office, where all three of them had a package waiting. Bitty tucked his hands into his pockets and buried his nose in his scarf as they headed past the East Quad and Bitty's dorm to the post office.

"Bits," said Holster when they turned a corner, "it's forty-five degrees out. We're not even close to winter yet."

"Lord, don't talk to me about winter," Bitty replied.

"You realize that you play a sport that's on top of ice, right?" Ransom asked.

"It's different when you're wearing ten pounds of gear and are exerting yourself! We're just walking and it is so cold," said Bitty, and he only needed to mildly exaggerate his shiver as the wind picked up and blew his shaggy hair off his forehead. Bitty stepped behind Holster, who was nine inches taller than him and significantly wider. Holster turned to look back at him, but Bitty turned as well and said, "No, stay in front of me. I need a wall to block the wind. I'm glad you're so much bigger than I am."

"You weren't so happy about that when I was trying to defend against you earlier," said Holster.

Bitty frowned and glanced at Ransom. Ransom carefully put his arm around Bitty's shoulders, as if even touching him would trigger a faint. Bitty hadn't fainted since that first time on the ice, but he also hadn't been checked since then. "I know you're worried we're going to check you. We won't. You don't have to worry about us hitting you when you're on the ice."

"But that's just you and Holster. What's going to happen when we play a game? What's going to happen when you're on my team and I'm up against the other D-pairs who are still going to try to check me?"

"We'll spread the word," said Holster.

"Oh God, Jack is going to find out and he's going to be so mad," said Bitty.

"Nah, bro, we'll keep it within the blueliners. No coaches. No Jack."

"It's probably better that I just work through it. I'll never be able to play for real if you guys keep avoiding me," said Bitty. 

Ransom squeezed his shoulder. "We'll fix it," he said.

They entered the post office. This was the first care package his mother had sent from home and he felt his eyes well up in response to her handwriting on the box. She'd been kind enough to write his legal name, rather than addressing it to Dicky Bittle. It might have been a cute nickname for a small child in the South, but it was one of many things he wanted to leave in Georgia. Although there was plenty he wished to leave behind, he did miss her.

Ransom and Holster exited the post office and sat on the stoop in front of it. The concrete steps were as cold as the ice in Faber when Bitty sat on them. Holster opened his box with a pocketknife and Bitty tore away the packaging to reveal the best parts of home that his mother knew that he missed: measuring cups, a souffle pan, good chocolate, and his rolling pin.

"Oh my God!" Bitty yelped as he held out his trusty rolling pin. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed it until he held it in his hand again.

"…Um, cool?" Holster guessed when he looked at the rolling pin. "Did your mom send you any weapons, Rans?"

"Nah, just underwear," said Ransom.

"It is NOT a weapon! This is my rolling pin! For baking!" 

Ransom and Holster stared at Bitty, which caused Bitty to huff in indignation. "Just you wait, boys. Once I can get the oven in my dorm to stop smelling like burnt plastic, imma make you the best darn peach pie this side of the Mason Dixon line."

"Dude, you should use the kitchen at the Haus. I don't think anyone's ever used it for, you know, kitchen purposes," said Ransom as they consolidated their care packages and headed back north toward Bitty's dorm and, by extension, the Hockey Haus.

"Bro," said Holster. "You know he's not allowed there until the first taddy tour and Shitty hasn't told us yet when he's doing it."

Ransom frowned. "Peach pie sounds hella legit, though."

"Oh, I know," said Holster. "Bitty, I'll ask Shitty when he plans on giving you frogs the official Haus tour. It's a rite of passage to be formally introduced to it, so I can't go against the bylaws."

"No, I get it. The student kitchens aren't that bad," said Bitty, although he remembered the grime he scraped from underneath one of the burners the last time he tried to make mac and cheese. He shuddered. Holster put his arm around Bitty, who flinched by the unexpected gesture, but fortunately nothing further happened. With Holster leading the way, Bitty took out the enclosed card from his package and stared at his mother's handwriting. There had been several conversations with her since she moved him into his dorm room, both over the phone and through Skype, but seeing her handwriting was like its own little reminder of how long it had been since he'd last seen her in person.

He read over the note, which didn't say much, as it acknowledged that they were likely to speak between the time she sent it and the time he received it (which was true, as he'd spoken to her the previous night before he went to bed). It still felt nice to hold a physical reminder of her existence, until he read: _Your father worries so much about you. I've told him time and time again that hockey isn't football, but you know how he is._

Bitty frowned and Holster must have felt his sudden tension, because he said, "Bad news from home?"

"No, no, nothing like that," said Bitty, but both Ransom and Holster looked concerned. "It's just my dad. He's..."

"A hard ass?" asked Holster.

"Overbearing?" asked Ransom.

"Overprotective," said Bitty. "He's a high school football coach. You'd think he would be more understanding of the risk associated with contact sports, but he's always been weird about me doing anything where I could get hurt. I played one game of peewee football before he made me quit, and he was reluctant to have me even start figure skating because of how much falling is involved. When I said I wanted to switch to hockey he made me join a no-contact league. He was furious when I committed to playing here."

"He coaches high school football and he's furious you got a scholarship to play college sports?" Ransom asked.

"Yeah," said Bitty as he threw the note back into the box.

"What does he want you to do? Open a hamster sanctuary?" Ransom asked.

"Hamsters are probably too dangerous for him," muttered Bitty. 

They'd reached his dorm. Holster finally removed his arm from Bitty's shoulder; it had been a shock when Holster first touched him, but now that it was gone, Bitty realized how much warmer he had been pressed up against another person.

"See you tomorrow, Bits," said Holster.

"Bye, y'all," said Bitty and he bumped knuckles with Ransom before he hurried inside and out of the cold. 

  
  


***

Holster must have hurried something along, because Bitty received a text from Shitty to be at 151 Jason Street at one o'clock Saturday afternoon. Bitty quickly texted Ollie and Wicky to make sure he wasn't being summoned alone, and both of them replied that they'd received the same instruction. Bitty was most excited that this introduction meant he could now use the kitchen — the kitchen in the dorm was completely inadequate for what Bitty wanted to use it for. Given that there was only one kitchen for all three hundred students, it was also difficult to find time when it wasn't occupied. From the limited knowledge Bitty could wheedle out of Ransom and Holster, only five of the guys on the team actually lived there, although other teammates would frequently hang out there. 

It was much warmer outside when Bitty arrived at the Haus, which was in the middle of a street of fraternities and other official sports housing. Shitty stood on the porch of the old, two-story foursquare house. Every house on the block looked exactly the same apart from color and decoration, but this particular house seemed to lack both. The outside did not elicit the feeling that the inside would be any better, not from the decrepit armchair next to the tree nor the red solo cups in the bushes. 

"FUCK YOU HOCKEY JAGS!" yelled a boy across the street when Bitty turned up the sidewalk toward the Haus. Bitty looked over his shoulder; two boys stood on the porch underneath a SAMWELL LACROSSE banner. Both of them were laughing. 

When Bitty looked back to Shitty, he had both middle fingers up in the air, but didn't engage the hecklers further. The other frogs were already present, so Bitty stood among the group and awaited Shitty's direction. It was hard to focus on what Shitty was actually saying, however, when Bitty realized his T-shirt depicted a Christmas tree smoking a joint.

Shitty led them inside and Bitty immediately absconded the tour after the brief, "There's the kitchen," introduction from Shitty. That was not how one should be introduced to a kitchen, so Bitty entered the room and frowned.

"Oh, honey," he said, looking around the room. There was a table, at least, and a few chairs, but the appliances were out of date and hidden under a layer of party debris and grime from the minimal culinary activities that actually took place here. A search of the cabinets yielded a few old but functional pots and pans, gadgets that were clearly donated throughout the years since they remained in their packages, and sriracha instead of food. The refrigerator was full of beer and the freezer only contained pizza rolls and Bagel Bites.

This would not do. The kitchen was disgusting and unkempt but it was salvageable, and after some more searching Bitty found enough non-expired ingredients to whip together a pie. He spent more time cleaning than cooking, but when Shitty returned to the kitchen with the tour group, Bitty had pulled something yummy out of the oven and turned to see his four fellow frogs, Shitty, and Ransom and Holster staring at him with wide eyes.

"Oh hi," said Bitty with an embarrassed laugh. The last time this many people had looked at him, he was lying on the ice after hallucinating a different Faber.

"Is that a pie?" Holster asked. 

"Yeah," said Bitty with another small laugh. "Sometimes when I'm in a kitchen. You know. Pies appear."

"Bro you are never allowed to leave this kitchen," said Ransom and he stepped forward to take the pie from Bitty's hands.

"Oh, be careful!" said Bitty when Ransom touched the pie plate and pulled away without actually removing it from Bitty's hands, which were protected by oven mitts. "Still hot. Give a minute and I can cut up a slice for all y'all — is anyone else home? There's eight of us, which is perfect."

"We're the only ones here right now and even so, I'm not sharing this with anyone else," said Shitty. He pulled a chef's knife out of the block and headed toward the pie. Bitty backed away, since Shitty seemed determined to use that large of a knife for this task, and let Shitty distribute the still-steaming pie to the others in the room. 

"Ow, oh, mmm," said Holster when he took a bite too soon. One slice of pie later, Ransom and Holster had whisked Bitty away from the kitchen to the attic, which was surprisingly cleaner than the kitchen. Bitty assumed it was because parties didn't travel this far upstairs and the only smells here were from the two boys who lived there.

"Bro," said Holster after Bitty sat on the window ledge. Since Ransom occupied the desk chair, it was the only place to sit apart from the bunk beds. Bitty did not want to sit on either bed. "Bro, that pie was amazing. This is something you do a lot, right? And you're going to do a lot here, right? Now that you can actually enter the Haus?"

"I suppose so. The kitchen is absolutely disgusting, so if someone were to clean it, I'd be more inclined to bake there," said Bitty. Ransom and Holster looked at each other and both instantly and simultaneously put their fingers on their noses before they shouted "NOT IT!" Bitty looked between both of them and neither seemed willing to break first.

"We can ask Johnson to do it," said Holster.

"I have literally never seen Johnson in this Haus. I'm not actually sure if he lives here. Maybe we ask Jack?" Ransom asked.

"Pshaw, like Jack is going to clean the kitchen. You know how he gets during preseason," said Holster with an eye roll, which looked ridiculous combined with his finger on his nose.

"How does he get during preseason?" Bitty asked.

"Bitchy," said Holster.

"Determined," said Ransom. "You'd be the same way if your dad was Bad Bob Zimmermann."

"Who is Bad Bob Zimmermann?" Bitty asked.

Both Ransom and Holster dropped their fingers and looked at Bitty, but then quickly pointed at the other person. "You dropped yours first!" Ransom yelled.

"No way, man, it was you!" Holster yelled back, and Bitty decided to leave as they continued to point fingers at each other. He was curious about Bad Bob Zimmermann, who Bitty was apparently supposed to know. He pulled out his phone as he headed down to the second floor and typed Bob Zimmermann's name into Google. Before he reached the next staircase, he discovered Bob Zimmermann was the most legendary and important player in the history of hockey — or at least one of them. 

Bitty looked up from his phone toward the rooms at the opposite end of the hall. He'd missed the tour, but he knew one of them belonged to Jack and one of them belonged to Johnson. A flurry of questions populated in his mind, all of them about Jack and what it would have been like growing up in a household like that. Then, as he stared at the space between the two doors, he wondered why the hell Jack, the son of a famous hockey player, was twenty-three years old and playing college hockey at Samwell rather than in the NHL.

The door on the left opened and Bitty jumped; he quickly locked his phone and put it in his pocket. He would definitely have to transfer to another school, and possibly another planet, if Jack Zimmermann found Bitty in the hallway googling Jack's father. He scurried toward the stairs, but as he stepped closer, John Johnson peered around the frame of his door.

"I thought someone was lurking out here," he said. Bitty had never seen him without his mask on, but his hair color was still a mystery since he wore a plain black baseball hat that he'd pulled low on his forehead. 

"I'm sorry!" said Bitty. "I was talking to Ransom and Holster, and I was just leaving, but I got distracted —"

"Going home is a good idea. You might want to take a nap. Lots going on this weekend," said Johnson and he paused before he nodded Bitty inside. Bitty, confused, entered the room and looked around; if what Ransom and Holster had said was true, it made sense that the room was so neat if Johnson rarely spent time there. It was actually a really nice room compared to the rest of the Haus. The floorboards didn't squeak, there were two windows, and the size of the room was significantly bigger than Bitty's dorm. With some simple decorating it could feel like home.

"Johnson, I like your room," said Bitty.

"Good," said Johnson. "I don't want to keep you, because like I said you should really get a nap in today, but I just wanted to make sure I told you that I'm glad you're on the team. You're going to do good things for us, and not just on the ice."

The comment hit Bitty off guard and he felt his eyes well up with tears. He blinked several times to keep them at bay; Johnson was nice enough to look away. "Thank you," Bitty said once he was sure his voice could handle it.

"You're welcome. And what you were looking for in the hallway? Be careful, and keep your sympathy to yourself."

"Thank you?" Bitty said again, although unsure as to what he was thanking Johnson for. Johnson turned to his desk so Bitty left the room and the Haus altogether.

***

When Bitty returned to his room, it only took another minute of googling before he found the answer to why Jack was not in the NHL. Jack had nearly died at the age of eighteen from an overdose, the details of which were few and far between. Bitty found himself spiraling into the news coverage of the incident, but after an hour he had very little information and a lot of questions. He couldn't help but feel sorry for Jack, who could have gone number one in the draft had this not happened, but he decided to keep his sympathy to himself, like Johnson had recommended. 

Johnson's recommendation of a nap was also a good idea. Bitty slept for ninety minutes in the afternoon, but as he prepared for bed that evening, two Ransom-and-Holster-like figures grabbed him in the community bathroom and covered his head with a dark pillowcase. One of them secured his hands behind his back and the other pulled him forward, and then he was taken into the cool night without any shoes on. 

"Really?" he asked when he felt the gravel walkway under his feet.

"Shut up, frog," said someone who was definitely Adam Birkholtz.

"I mean, you couldn't have let me get a pair of shoes? What if I step on glass? We're on the ice on Monday —"

Someone who was definitely Justin Oluransi suddenly picked him up and swung Bitty over his shoulder.

"Thank you," said Bitty.

This initiation, as Shitty called it when the pillowcase was removed, was considerably less intimidating than Bitty expected it to be. He and the four other freshman knelt at center ice in their underwear and were forced to make ridiculous noises while being offered beer. The most surprising part of the entire ceremony was that no one was forced to drink anything at all, and when Bitty complained that his knees were so cold he was going to get frostbite, Holster picked him up and put Bitty on his shoulders.

"There's no chance I could get a sweater, is there?" Bitty asked Holster once he adjusted to his new height. He hadn't been on someone's shoulders since he was five years old and Holster was the tallest person on the team.

"Absolutely not," said Holster.

"Aww," said Bitty. "Can I have another beer?"

"Absolutely yes," said Holster, and Bitty let out a yelp as Holster bent down to retrieve another Natty Light from the cooler. Holster did not seem to care about Bitty's stability on his shoulders, but fortunately Bitty did not tumble face-first into the ice before they were upright again and he had a beer in his hand.

Bitty remained on Holster's shoulders for the remainder of the initiation, which consisted mostly of drinking and attempting to play hockey without coordination or skates. He held tightly onto Holster as Holster attempted to play two-on-two with Ollie and Wicky, which resulted in poor performance as Bitty kept clutching Holster's face. When they weren't playing bad hockey, Bitty looked around for Jack. The entire team was there apart from him, and Bitty wondered if that was due to his captaincy, since his position of authority meant he should not be allowed to condone this kind of behavior, or if Jack just didn't like to party. The latter would make sense, since Bitty remembered reading something about Jack and rehab, although his memory was fuzzy in his current state.

It was approaching two o'clock in the morning when one of the frogs fell asleep on the bench and tipped over onto the floor, prompting the party to end. Bitty was blindfolded but remained on Holster's shoulders as they headed back to the Haus. The multiple cans of beer and the blindfold severely affected Bitty's balance. He gripped Holster's shoulders with his thighs, but Holster had been yelling at him all night not to grab his face, so Bitty attempted to maintain his balance without his hands. That should have been easy. He was a figure skater, after all. He'd dedicated almost a decade of his life to maintaining balance while spinning, while jumping, while pulling his leg up to his head. He knew how to stay put, but when Holster began up the porch stairs that led into the Haus, Bitty was too far back. With a yell, he began to fall.

He landed on the sidewalk with a groan; he hadn't hit it too hard, but hard enough that it hurt. He waited for someone to say something, to grab him and help him up, but nobody came. He grabbed the blindfold and pulled it down off his eyes. It was still dark without it, but things looked...wrong. The Haus looked flatter than usual, like he was watching Saturday morning cartoons. The gutters had a thick black outline, and as he searched the sides of the house he realized they did as well. Bitty blinked. He blinked again. It was still the same. He turned and looked at the tree, and the tree was wrong too; the color was far too smooth, just a solid brown with rigidly defined shading. Everything was wrong, and the panic was starting to build in his chest. He could feel it in his sternum, hot and painful, but also lower, in his gut, rising and rising until — 

He felt a tug around his waist and found himself in Ransom's arms, his feet on the ground. The rest of the team was looking back at him and Holster was red with guilt. He looked at the Haus — it was the Haus again, an actual house rather than lines on paper. He twisted out of Ransom's arms and threw up onto the grass.

"Oh snap, bro, you owe me five dollars," said Shitty to Holster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This hallucination does not reference a specific AU of mine, but you could argue that Bitty is looking at the comic itself.


	4. Chapter Three

Bitty was able to survive weekly scrimmages without passing out again, thanks to the covert warning Ransom and Holster issued the other team members who were not Jack Zimmermann. It was a relief to not have to dread on-ice practices any longer, because that meant Bitty could focus on actually playing hockey. When he could focus on actually playing hockey, he found that he did pretty well, although Jack usually criticized something about his play.

"Soft hands, Bittle," said Jack after a line rush where Bitty's pass went too far for Jack to grab and the other team picked it up.

Bitty grumbled and followed Jack toward the other end of the ice; Jack didn't have a comment on the four excellent passes Bitty had made in previous rushes.

"Bittle! Pay attention!"

It was the final practice before their first game, and Bitty had gotten nervous again. His performance through September and October earned him a spot on the third line, which was better than he expected. He expected an intense but peaceful scrimmage and not to have to interact with Jack at all, since logically Bitty would rotate in for the second line and rotate out for the fourth line. Since Jack was the starting center and Bitty was not on a special team, there was no reason they needed to interact. That didn't stop Jack from shouting direction from the bench when Bitty passed by.

Bitty was paying attention, or at least he was until the moment Jack shouted at him. Bitty gritted his teeth and looked away from Jack just in time to run directly into Tommy McCray, one of the larger senior defensemen. Bitty bounced off and fell toward the ice, his eyes scrunched as he waited for the moment when the pain would hit.

It flared in two locations; on his ass, as expected, but also in the center of his chest. He groaned loudly in pain and opened his eyes, but when he did, McCray was not on the ice but instead at the bench, arguing with someone who looked uncannily like Bitty.

Bitty's heart began to pound. This wasn't someone who only looked like Bitty, this _was_ Bitty, or at least a version of himself who hadn't quit figure skating. He'd gotten a haircut, which looked pretty good, actually — the undercut made his face thinner and the length on his crown was styled impeccably for this time of morning. This obviously wasn't Bitty for two major reasons: Bitty was sitting on the ice in his practice gear, and he would never yell at someone that much bigger than him.

His other self's voice was sharp as he snapped, "You do realize Skate America is in three weeks, right? This is an Olympic season, I have the rink booked every day —"

"I have no idea what you're talking about but unlike you, we have a sport to play here," McCray snapped back, and Bitty's other self looked so furious, the Bitty on the ice wondered if someone was going to be smacked. A fluttering of delight swept through him as he imagined having the kind of confidence to act like this in front of a senior. 

"Nobody cares about the hockey team. You guys haven't been good in years and I seriously doubt practice is going to change that."

"You can't book the only rink on campus 24/7 just because you want to, Eric."

"This is ridiculous," Eric said. That sounded like Bitty's voice, but not the same way Bitty heard it in his head. His accent was different as well — definitely still southern, but more feminine, like this Eric was not afraid to be gay. Bitty frowned; it must be nice to not be afraid to be gay. 

Eric pulled out his phone. Bitty looked at the case. It looked like Bitty's phone, but his visor was too cloudy to make it out. He removed it and rose to his knees, covertly trying to get a better look at the other him at the entrance of the tunnel that led to the locker room. That was definitely his phone, those were definitely his hands, and —

Eric looked up and spotted him on the boards. After a moment of what looked like shock, he said, "Oh, honey, you need a glow up stat."

Their eyes connected and there was no doubting it; he was looking into his own eyes. That was him standing on the rampway in the same kind of training clothes Eric used to wear when he figure skated. Bitty felt his entire body begin to shake; how was he standing right there? How was he himself but not? This couldn't be a dream; Bitty could feel pain in his chest as well as the dampness of the ice beneath his knees. This was not just a dream. Just as he wondered when he would start screaming, he felt himself physically pulled backward. He blinked and was on the ice at Faber. McCray had just been talking to Eric down by the rampway, but now he stood over Bitty, looking concerned.

"You okay?" he asked.

Bitty's chest was on fire. He looked around; Jack was standing up at the bench, looking down at him with a frown on his face, although that was not unusual. Bitty turned and got onto his hands and knees, staring down at the white ice. Staring at the ice made the rest of what he'd just seen feel more like a weird memory, like a fleeting daydream he'd had to compensate for the pain of the check. Even so, he still felt like he could vomit and he was grateful he'd taken off his helmet. The last thing he needed was to puke into a plastic visor that was attached to his face. He looked to the side to pick it up from where he'd placed it on the ice, but it wasn't there. He looked to the other side. It was gone.

"You okay, son?" Coach Hall asked. Unlike Coach Murray, there was no concern in his voice. Instead he sounded annoyed that this had happened again.

"I'm fine," Bitty said automatically.

"You need to leave?" 

"No!" said Bitty quickly, and he looked up. "No, I just need a second and I can go again."

"Fine. Get some water. Where's your helmet?"

Bitty, now sitting on his ankles, looked around at empty ice. With support of the boards he carefully stood, but his helmet wasn't on the bench either. "I don't know," he said.

"You just had it — I saw that you just had it," said Coach Hall, and his voice trailed off as if he were trying to convince himself of the helmet's location. "Well take a breather and then go to the equipment room for a spare."

Bitty opened the door to the bench and stepped in. There was only three feet of space between the end of the bench and Jack. Bitty sat on the edge on purpose and picked up a water bottle, which he proceeded to spray into his face. As he wiped the excess off with the sleeve of his jersey, he willed himself not to cry. Jack jumped over the boards and into the next line rush, and when Bitty felt the strength return to his legs, he left to find his spare helmet, the image of not-him in his mind.

***

There was nothing Bitty could do to combat the nerves he felt the following day. Throughout team breakfast, morning skate, his attempt at an afternoon nap, and preparing at Faber, he couldn't forget that this was his very first game. The other team had not been warned against hitting him, nor would that accomplish anything if Ransom or Holster tried. Bitty was going to play his sport on the ice with another team who very easily could check him into a hallucination right in the middle of the game. That was not allowed to happen.

It was easier to focus away from the potential threats of the game when he put in headphones and turned up his pregame playlist. Even though Jack was just two stalls down and no one sat between them, Bitty was able to put on his gear in isolation. The banter and excitement of the other boys on the team disappeared and he could concentrate solely on himself and the familiar routine of dressing in clothing and protective gear. The music made everything better; he could close his eyes and just feel it, or he could sway his shoulders back and forth with the beat. There in the locker room with a room full of boys who he could not hear and chose not to see, Bitty missed figure skating. There he could listen to music and let it drive his performance; here he had to let it go once he finished lacing up his skates.

He removed his earbuds and wrapped them around his phone before he looked up. Everyone else was dressed, but it appeared as though he was not the only one who needed a minute alone before something this big. He looked to his right where Ransom, Holster, and Shitty were fiddling with their helmets. Holster looked over and was just about to say something, which already caused nerves to slip down Bitty's throat and into his stomach, but fortunately at that moment, Coach Hall and Coach Murray stood at the front of the room and began to speak.

"All right boys, this is what we've been building up to since the beginning of the school year. If you were here last season you know we didn't end it the way we wanted to, but this isn't last season. This is a new year and a new team, and we have the chance to prove to ourselves what we're capable of. I know this team is capable of anything. Work together, keep your eyes up and your hands soft, and we've got this. We're keeping the lines as they were from practice but listen up so you know who you're replacing on changes. Starting line: Knight, Zimmermann, Einhardt, Birkholtz, Oluransi."

Bitty glanced over as Coach Hall continued naming the second line; Ransom and Holster gave each other a fist bump. "Third line," Coach Hall continued, "Bittle, Wicks, O'Meara." 

Bitty let out a small, hopefully imperceptible sigh of relief at the sound of his name. Although Coach Hall had said the lines remained the same from practice, he was worried that his incident meant he was going to be either bumped down or scratched from the game altogether. Bitty put on his helmet before he stood and followed the others out of the room, carefully avoiding the large S printed on the center of the floor. He settled behind Ollie and Wicky and jumped up and down a few times, trying to tame the sudden onslaught of restless energy. This was going to be good. He was going to have a good, safe game and he would do his best regardless of how much ice time he saw or how often he was able to get a stick on the puck. He was going to do well.

He surprised himself how well he actually did. His first shift was ninety seconds into the first period, and in his first sprint of thirty seconds, he caught a pass from Wicky and got off a shot, although it was easily shrugged away by the Dartmouth goaltender. He never got the puck on his second shift, but his third he had it again and was able to pass before Dartmouth made a physical play on him. As he waited for his fourth shift, Jack made a beautiful no-look pass to Shitty and Shitty let off a wrister that sailed right by the mask of the goalie. Bitty jumped to his feet and hollered in celebration, and then held out his mitt for Shitty's line to bump as they passed. There was nothing that could erase the smile on his face in that moment and then, little by little, shift by shift, his mind settled completely into the game. There was no time in between the first and second period to worry about anything else than what was happening at the present. He needed to replace his wet gear and settle his breath, as he was still panting from his last shift that required him to chase after an errant pass to prevent an icing. 

"Good hustle out there, Bittle," said Coach Murray as Bitty passed him on the way to the line. Bitty allowed himself a smile before he returned to the bench and waited, his heart racing with adrenaline, until he got a chance to play again.

It happened in his last shift of the second period. He was gassed; Coach had put his line in much more often than in the first period and no amount of conditioning or scrimmaging could prepare him for the feeling of a full game, in full gear, when everything mattered. He would need to learn to pace himself as the season went on, but as his skates hit the ice, he forgot his exhaustion and instead focused on the next thirty-eight seconds before the period ended. He headed up toward the offensive zone along the boards. As he crossed the blue line he received a pass from Holster. He looked forward and zooming toward him along the dots was a large Dartmouth defenseman who looked ready to flatten Bitty into a pancake right there against the glass. Bitty's eyes widened and he felt his heart drop, but then he saw the open ice to his left and, just as he was about to be crushed to death, spun around and avoided the check. Ransom was open in the slot so Bitty passed and Ransom reacted with a one-timer to the goalie's glove side, and before the period could end, the puck sailed directly into the net.

"RANSOM!" Bitty yelled as he skated directly for Ransom, whose arms were open and facing him. Bitty collided with him in a tight embrace.

"Yo, Bits, that was a sick pass!" Ransom yelled over the roar of the audience and the screams of the other players as they came in for the celebration.

"That was a clutch goal!" Bitty yelled. Holster joined the hug, followed by Ollie and Wicky, and then they headed to the bench to get knuckles from the rest of the team — Ransom first, then Bitty with the primary assist, then Holster with the secondary. Bitty laughed and smiled at the faces of his teammates on the bench; everyone was smiling, but Jack hit his fist extra hard. It didn't matter. Nothing could take away this feeling.

***

Bitty was well on his way to drunk as he and the rest of the team celebrated their first win of the season with a full-on kegster in the Hockey Haus. He was tired from the exertion of the game, but the adrenaline of his first win, his first point, and his ability to successfully not hallucinate when it mattered caused him to float around the increasingly full Haus. His surroundings were hazy but he'd seen more than one woman trying to eye him up across a crowded room, and that was the last thing he needed to deal with at that moment. While he knew he wanted to come out to his team, being half-drunk in the middle of a party did not feel as though it were the proper time to alarm his teammates by asking them to keep female puck bunnies away from him.

"There you are!" yelled Ransom when Bitty returned from the bathroom. Bitty's eyebrows raised as Ransom grabbed one arm, Holster grabbed the other, and he was ushered toward the party room where the keg sat like a trophy that awaited him. Bitty looked around; most of the team were congregated there, as if they were awaiting him too, but he didn't see Jack. 

Shitty stood behind the keg, wearing no shirt but a sleeveless jean-jacket with the American flag printed on it. "The Samwell Hockey bylaws clearly state that the frog who gets the first point of the season will be the frog to do the season's first official kegster. Mr. Birkholtz — bring forth the frog!"

Bitty looked away from Ollie and Wicky, who were staring so intensely at each other that Bitty wondered if they were about to make out, to Ransom. "Where all is Jack? Doesn't he live here?"

Ransom grabbed his legs and Bitty took quick hold of the sides of the keg to prevent himself from falling face-first onto the floor. Years of figure skating and gymnastics training made this an easy task, and Bitty was placed into a handstand with only minor support by Ransom and Holster. Before Bitty could hear their answers, Shitty shouted at them and shoved the spout into Bitty's mouth. Bitty briefly wondered how dirty it was before his mouth filled with beer.

The rest of the night was a blur; Jack never showed up, Ollie and Wicky did end up making out, and after seeing Bitty's perfect handstand, he was asked to do several more so the guys could get video on their phones. Bitty thought about coming out to Ransom and Holster, now that nobody seemed to care that Ollie and Wicky were all over each other on the disgusting green couch in the den, but instead of blurting out the words he should have said, Bitty grabbed his shaggy hair in his hands and asked, "D'you guys think I need a glow up?"

Ransom and Holster regarded him seriously. Ransom held his fist to his chin and Holster circled him, inspecting his hair, before he said, "It does kind of make you look like a preteen."

"Oh no!" cried Bitty, clutching his hair harder as if doing so would remove the youth from his appearance.

"It's cool, though, bro," said Ransom. "I bet there's a billion old dudes out there wishing they could look young again."

"Yeah but how am I supposed to go clubbing and pick up a gu — I mean, pick up someone if I look like I'm twelve and no bouncer in his right mind would ever let me in?"

"Bruh," said Holster, gesturing around. "Who needs a club when you've got kick ass kegsters like this one? Just you wait, we'll throw something 'swawesome before Christmas break."

Bitty groaned and continued to pull on his hair. "I do need a glow up."

"You need some water and your bed," said Ransom. "Don't forget we've got morning skate and another game tomorrow."

"Ugh, tomorrow's going to suck," said Bitty, but he let Ransom lead him to the door.

The following morning did suck. No amount of water could offset the amount of kegsters Bitty had done the night before. Every movement from team breakfast to morning skate felt like dragging his limbs through a swamp, and every motion made his stomach churn so violently he felt like he could vomit. Fortunately he did not vomit, but he was less than ten minutes into practice, his eyes everywhere but where they should be, when he didn't check his blind side and felt the crash of someone else just as he reached center ice.

He felt like his head was going to explode, more so than his chest, which also felt like it had been torn open. He expected to land hard on the ice but instead he landed on a soft mat, the kind that he remembered from gymnastics practice. He opened his eyes and stared at the black gym mat beneath his hands and knees. This was not Faber, but he was definitely still dressed for Faber. He still wore his gloves and his stick was in his right hand. He looked up and within one glance fell onto the floor, shaking.

This was not an ice arena, nor was it anything Bitty had ever seen. Beyond the black gym mats was a painting of a meadow come to life. Flower petals drifted down from the sky on green silk stems, swinging back and forth. How was the painting alive? How was it so large? How could this be in his brain?

It was too overwhelming. Bitty began to cough violently, and he knew in just a moment the coughing would lead to vomit. He held firm to his stick in one hand, worried that he would lose it, but unstrapped his helmet in the other, squeezing his eyes shut as he coughed and coughed. He got the helmet off just in time for the vomit to come. When he opened his wet eyes he was back at Faber, and his puke was on the ice.

"What did I tell you boys about throwing parties when we're playing back-to-backs?" Coach Murray asked from somewhere nearby.

Bitty blinked the tears out of his eyes. He was shaking so hard he was surprised he was still on his knees and not flat on his front. He carefully looked up; Coach Murray was reaching down to him with a sympathetic hand, but beyond him Jack stared, his face a scowl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bitty's first hallucination of the other, more confident Eric is from [Not To Win](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8506849/chapters/19495828). The second with the floating poppy petals in front of a painted backdrop is from the practice facility in [Nature](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17650841/chapters/41624561).


	5. Chapter Four

Despite their win, there was no kegster after the second game. Bitty did not tally any points nor did he match the ice time from his first game either: his on-ice vomit led to him begging to still play, so he was placed on the fourth line and only saw ten shifts the entire game. He was thankful that he was still able to play, that he touched the puck, and that the horrible hallucination of flowers come to life was now over.

He slept poorly on Saturday night despite his exhaustion. It took hours to fall asleep after he climbed into bed, and even after he did his dreams were odd — he dreamt of high school back in Georgia, but the hockey boys were there too, and everybody played for Coach's football team. When he was abruptly awoken he felt like he hadn't slept at all.

Bitty looked at the time: four-oh-seven. He groaned and buried his head underneath his covers again, but the knock on his door was more insistent. With another grumble he left his bed, his comforter coming with him, and idly rubbed his chest. He opened the door and frowned at the sight of a very awake Jack Zimmermann.

"What?" he asked. Maybe this was another hallucination.

"Get your gear, we're going to Faber."

"It is four o'clock on a Sunday, Jack Zimmermann," said Bitty.

"Yeah, I'm aware. Get your stuff and let's go. This isn't a request."

While it wasn't a request, there wasn't an actual reason why Bitty needed to comply with it. There was nothing in his scholarship contract that mentioned four a.m. private lessons with his captain, especially since that captain turned out to be a scowly asshole. Unfortunately, Jack was also larger and more intimidating than Bitty, and was fully capable of picking him up and carrying him to Faber, so Bitty changed his clothes, collected his gear, and followed Jack up the river in the darkness.

"What exactly are we doing, Jack?" Bitty asked when they crossed the river and Bitty could see the outline of Faber behind the gym. Bitty looked over at Jack, who hadn't immediately replied. The streetlights were still on but Jack, wearing all black, blended more into the darkness than into the light. With his unkempt black hair, he looked equally menacing and intimidating.

Jack looked up just as they stepped into a streetlight and Bitty caught a glimpse of earnest blue eyes before the intensity made him look away. It was just a few more steps, back into the darkness, before Jack spoke: "I don't know why you play hockey. I don't know how you made it on the team, to be honest, but I've been watching you whenever you're on the ice. You don't suck, but you're a risk. I have a very specific reason that I play, and I can't afford any risks, so we're going to Faber and we're going to work on this."

It was more words than Bitty had ever heard from him. Until this point, Bitty hadn't even realized Jack had an accent, but it made sense if he was from Montreal. Between the accent and the time of day, it was difficult to tell if Jack had insulted him, so Bitty just assumed that Jack had insulted him. 

Jack looked back at Bitty, just briefly, before they crossed the street and headed toward the back entrance near the docks. Once inside, Jack began turning on lights and left Bitty alone to change into his practice gear in his stall. Just as Bitty had pulled on one of his skates, Jack reappeared. He didn't change his clothes but instead laced up his own skates, the two of them dressing silently side-by-side. Without the rest of the team present, Bitty became hyper aware of Jack's proximity, even with the empty stall between them. He could take a step to the left and touch Jack's skate if he wanted to, but he didn't want to do that. He wanted to be back in his bed and sleep away his Sunday, but instead he picked up his helmet and followed Jack to the ice.

The sun was just beginning to rise now, the light streaming in through the wide windows on the far side of the rink. Bitty could see the light in long rectangles on the ice. The emergence of the sun cast a pale yellow sort of tinge to the clouds, like the color of old straw. Bitty skated toward the windows, trying to get his legs to wake up, but he felt sore and raw, like he'd been walking all night long. He skated a lap before he met Jack back at the center faceoff dot.

"You ready?" Jack asked, and he started forward in another lap, so Bitty matched him as they slowly sailed around the rink.

"It's so early I'm going to vomit."

"You've never seen the sun rise from a rink, eh? Thought you were a figure skating champion."

Bitty looked over at Jack. It was too early to ask how Jack knew he was a figure skating champion, and it was too early to decipher if Jack was actually chirping him.

"I am and I have, _Captain_ , but Katya usually gave me fair warning before Soviet Morning Calisthenics — which, by the way, they used to do in the Gulags."

Jack came to a stop and looked directly at him. Bitty put his helmet on and secured his chin strap. "Just stand against the boards, Bittle, and brace yourself," said Jack.

"Wait, what?" Bitty asked, but before he even knew what was happening, or why they were there, Jack vaulted forward, turned to the side, and led with his shoulder directly into Bitty. If Jack gave a direction, Bitty didn't hear it over his own shouting to "STOP! STOP!" but just as quickly as Jack connected with him, Bitty felt a tear in his chest and landed on soft earth in a bed of red flowers.

"What?" Bitty asked again, quietly this time. He sat up to peer over the flowers. Faber was gone, the sunrise was gone, and he was alone in an endless field. He looked up at the empty blue sky; it was bright as noon but he couldn't find the sun. He carefully stood, aware that the blades of his skates dug into the soft earth beneath him, and looked for a landmark or a structure, but all he could see in every direction were soft, rolling hills and endless flowers, mostly red despite his knowledge that some of these flowers should not be red. He took a wobbly step, and then another.

"HELLO?" he yelled, hearing the sound reverberate in his face shield. There was no response, so he took a few more careful steps and shouted again.

His heart began to beat fast as he realized he was completely alone. The fields were beautiful. The sky should have been peaceful. Everything was in essence perfect, but he was so alone that he was terrified. If he took a misstep in his skates and broke his ankle he would lie beneath the wrongly-colored flowers forever, until he died, because there was nothing and no one. His breathing increased, so fast it became unproductive, and he was both afraid to walk and afraid to stay in place. The bright sunshine began to fade as he attempted to take in more air that did nothing, and eventually he closed his eyes and felt a snap around his waist and a thrill of pain in his chest.

"Geez, are you —"

Bitty was sitting against the boards back in Faber, and Jack stood in front of him. He quickly pulled off his helmet and took in a slow, deep breath to try to combat the shallow gulps that nearly killed him in the field. It was much too dark in the rink in comparison to what he had just seen, so he could barely make out Jack in front of him.

"What in the deep-fried hell was that?" Bitty asked.

"I came at you slow!" Jack asked, and Bitty looked up at him, confused. "And I don't even have pads on. Seriously, Bittle."

Jack spoke as if just a second had passed between the check and Bitty's reaction, but Bitty had been in the field for a full minute, maybe even two, before he lost his breath enough to snap out of it. He began to shake and lost all sort of balance that he'd managed to retain during the hallucination, however long or short it may have been. 

"I can't do this," Bitty said. "I can't. I can't do this."

"Bittle, it's okay. You've got this stupid mental block —"

"I can't."

"If that's the only thing holding you back —"

"I can't."

Bitty attempted to get to his feet, but he had no control of himself, and that's when he broke down into tears. Jack stopped trying to speak over him and knelt in front of him. He reached out his hands to place them on Bitty's shaking shoulders, but at the last moment retracted them and didn't touch him.

"Bittle," he said, and his voice was both careful and gentle. "It's okay."

"Can I go?" Bitty asked. He didn't want to look at Jack as he asked.

"Yes. I do think we should work on this more."

"Fine. Can I go? Please? I didn't sleep and I just… I can't."

"Okay."

Bitty turned and scrambled away, tears clouding his vision and irritating the bags under his eyes. He surreptitiously wiped at them as he headed down the rampway back to the locker room. He removed just enough of his gear to be able to go home, and then he raced out the back door and began running, the tears coming hard and fast.

***

He slept until one o'clock in the afternoon. The dining hall was already closed so he ate cold pop tarts at his desk and stared at the open incognito browser tab on his computer. He looked at the address bar, unblinking, as he took bite after bite of horrible frosted strawberry pop tart until there was nothing but silver crinkly packaging and crumbs on his Samwell Men's Hockey T-shirt.

At some point he'd removed the rest of his gear, but he was still in his T-shirt and shorts and had no intention of changing into something else. He was sticky and sweaty from his fretful nap under too many covers, but he didn't have time for a shower. He absolutely had to figure this out, but there was knowledge in this incognito tab that frightened him. One flash of a blond stranger was easy enough to ignore, but Bitty remembered looking into his eyes, his own actual eyes rather than what he saw in the mirror every day. He remembered the flower petals moving on a painting. He could feel the warm breeze of the vacant field that was more beautiful and more terrifying than anything Bitty had seen in his life. 

He wiped his hands on his shirt and cracked his knuckles on his forefingers before he quickly typed the word _hallucination_ into the search bar and tapped enter before he could convince himself that this was a bad idea. 

The first result was a definition. He didn't need the definition. He knew what happened; he needed to know why it happened, so he scrolled down. His breath came in sharply as he saw a WebMD result with a familiar and dreaded word in the reference:

_www.webmd.com > schizophrenia > what-are-hallucinations _

Tears fell out of his eyes and he forced himself to look away from a moment. He stared at his calendar on the wall instead; his mother had gotten it for him. Each month contained a new pastry recipe, and while he had plenty of recipes of his own to replace the twelve generic suggestions, at least it gave him something nice to look at. He'd much rather look at the beautiful swirl of apples on the pie on the wall rather than the inevitable internet confirmation of what he'd been dreading. He scanned the upcoming month; it was just another week until his mother would be in town. She didn't need to see him like this.

He looked back at the screen and clicked on the word _schizophrenia_. He clicked a few more times and read more words he didn't want to see before he had to stop. He didn't want to know this. He didn't want to know that he was in the correct age range for this to develop. He didn't want to know that his hallucinations were a symptom, and that their frequency was another sign. He didn't want to know this because an increase in symptoms led to a decrease in time before he lost control of himself and he ended up in a psychotic episode that he could not snap out of. He would end up in the endless fields with no way out, in a room where paintings exploded at him, or in a place where another, better version of himself told him that he needed to cut his hair.

Bitty snapped the lid of his laptop shut and got up from the desk. He stuffed his feet into shoes, grabbed his wallet, and ran out of his room. If a better version of himself wanted a glow up, then he would give himself a damn glow up.

***

It was ten to five and Bitty hesitated outside the front door of the Haus. He'd made a special trip to the Stop & Shop for ingredients, and Ransom and Holster had said that he could come over and use the kitchen whenever he wanted, but he wasn't sure everyone living in the Haus shared that sentiment. He also didn't know if he should walk in or ring the doorbell; was it okay if he just walked in? If he lived here, would he be comfortable if his teammates just walked in? He decided if they came in with ingredients for pie, he would be okay with it, and so he opened the door and walked inside.

The first floor was empty. Bitty peeked in each room before he returned to the kitchen. It had been cleaned since his initiation, but probably only once. He set the two plastic bags on the table and did a quick wipe of the counters and the oven before he pulled out a few bowls.

The Haus was quiet as Bitty worked through the crust. It wasn't until he began simmering berries and sugar on the stove that he actually heard someone else. Heavy footsteps sounded across the creaky floorboards above, and then clunks down the stairs before Shitty appeared in the doorway.

"Bits!" said Shitty, so loudly that Bitty startled and turned around. Shitty was completely naked, which was not uncommon in the locker room, but shocking in the Haus. Shitty did not seem phased by his nudity so Bitty attempted to not be either.

"Hi Shitty. Is it okay that I do some baking here?"

"Do I get to eat it?"

"Yes."

"Then chyeah, do whatever you want," said Shitty. "How long until it's ready?"

"Forty-five minutes or so. I'm almost done with the filling."

"Cool," said Shitty. Bitty expected him to leave, but Shitty stood in the doorway with his hands on opposite jambs. He stared so intensely at Bitty that Bitty didn't know how to act, although he knew he needed to take his filling off the heat. He was just about to fill the awkward silence when Shitty said, "Did you get the chop?"

"Oh," said Bitty, and his hand went up to glide over his recently buzzed undercut. He'd never buzzed any part of his hair before, always electing to keep length all over, but his other self (or, at least his hallucination of another version of himself) looked good with it. He thought he looked good with it too, or at least he did until Shitty's scrutiny. "Yeah, I got a haircut this afternoon."

"You look good, Bits," said Shitty. "Less like a twelve year old."

"Does it make me look gay?" Bitty asked.

Shitty hesitated. "Do you want it to make you look gay?"

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean it like that. Yes, I want it to make me look gay. Do I look gay now? Did I look gay before?"

"I couldn't say either way," said Shitty. "But you do look good. Does the rest of the team know you're gay?"

"No. I don't think I've ever said it out loud before, actually," said Bitty. He removed his filling from the heat and thought about it. There had been plenty of opportunities to think about it before. It'd been pounding in his brain since he became a teenager. He sometimes thought it so loud he would crawl under the covers on his bed and hold his hands over his ears, wishing it away. In that moment, however, in the Haus kitchen with a naked teammate that Bitty was not at all attracted to, it did not feel overwhelming or deafening or shameful. It just felt like him.

"Well I'm glad you did, bruh," said Shitty. He entered the kitchen and patted Bitty on the shoulder. "We've got your back."

"Thanks, Shitty."

Shitty left the room, hopefully to put some clothes on, and Bitty finished assembling the pie. While the pie was in the oven, he took selfies at the kitchen table, doing his best to keep the background neutral. It was difficult when a large bulletin board covered the majority of the wall behind him, and several unsavory items had been pinned to it, including a pair of women's underwear, a baggie of unused condoms, and an issue of the Swallow that featured a party at the Haus where a fire had broken out.

The timer on the oven acted as a dinner bell for the occupants of the Haus. Shitty must have spread the word, because as soon as Bitty took the pie out of the oven, four hopeful boys plus Jack filed into the room. Bitty turned around and smiled at them. "You're going to need to let it cool a bit. Maybe we should get dinner first?"

"You're not serious, are you?" Holster asked. "This is dinner."

"One pie is not enough for the six of us, especially considering how big some of you boys are," said Bitty and he gestured toward them with his pie server.

"We have Bagel Bites in the freezer," said Ransom and he opened the freezer to confirm this. Bitty extracted the mega size sausage and pepperoni Bagel Bites and looked at his teammates.

"Okay, I will make y'all Bagel Bites, we will eat them, and then you can have pie. Not before. I made this for dessert, not for you heathens to spoil your supper." Bitty adjusted the temperature on the oven and cleaned a sheet tray that had been sitting, possibly forever, in the warming drawer. Once the oven reached its new temperature, Bitty set the full tray inside and then sat at the only seat left at the kitchen table, which was next to Jack.

"Did you cut your hair?" Jack asked as soon as Bitty sat down. Bitty looked over and realized it had just been a few hours since he lost his resolve in front of Jack and had to run home with all of his gear on.

"Yeah," mumbled Bitty.

Unlike Shitty, Jack didn't compliment the chop, but he did ask, "Are you okay?"

"Yes," said Bitty with more confidence, and he reached across the table to slap Holster's hand as he attempted to take the pie server. "No, Holster."

"Aww," said Holster. 

They ate a mediocre dinner but good pie. Jack, Shitty, and Johnson disappeared as soon as they finished their slices, but Ransom and Holster stayed behind at the kitchen table to eat the leftovers. Ransom and Holster were bickering loudly about the superiority of Bagel Bites over pizza rolls, and Bitty listened. It was a good distraction; he hadn't thought about much besides food since he entered the Haus. Once the pie was gone there was little reason to stay, so Bitty said goodnight and headed back to his dorm, his hands in his empty pockets, his mind far away again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bitty's dream of the boys on his high school football team is [Better With Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11388228/chapters/25501353), and the endless fields with erroneously red flowers is [180 Pomegranate Seeds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13446756/chapters/30820629).


	6. Chapter Five

Suzanne Bittle arrived on campus after morning practice on Saturday. Bitty had once again slept fretfully and was tired before he even left his room, so practice did not go well. He avoided checks — or possibly the checks avoided him — but his passes were inaccurate, his puck handling was sloppy, and at one point he sat down after a line rush and had to stare into the early morning sun outside of Faber's great windows to prevent himself from crying. Practices during the week had gone well, both on and off the ice, but the threat of that evening's game caused his nerves to come back tenfold. It didn't help that he knew his mother would be in attendance. 

Bitty checked his texts after he dressed into street clothes at his stall; Suzanne was outside the building and wanted a tour of the rink before he showed her the rest of campus. He told her to wait outside the front door, where he knew none of the boys would be, and dallied so that he could avoid introducing her to anyone else. There would be a time and a place for that, but not after a terrible practice and not when he felt like any stray touch could push him into another hallucination.

"Bittle," said Jack, and Bitty jumped. He blinked a few times to ensure the world was still stable, and then he looked over at Jack, who was still sitting in his stall. "We need to try again. Do you have time?"

"Oh, sorry, no," said Bitty. "My mom just got here and she wants a tour. Can we do it tomorrow after she leaves?"

Jack frowned. "I was hoping we could try before the game."

"Oh no, I can't," said Bitty with a quick shake of his head. "She's only here for a day and something tells me she has every minute booked. We can try again tomorrow, Jack. You… You'll have to go slow on me, though, okay? You can't just come at me like it's a game, you have to let me work up to it."

Bitty expected Jack to resist, but he nodded. "Okay. Keep your head up tonight. No one from Yale is going to go slow on you."

"I know," said Bitty.

"Sounds like the coaches are putting you and Wicky on a line with Shitty. I think it's a good idea. Wicky's just okay but you and Shits —"

"You don't think I'm just okay?" Bitty asked.

"No. Practices like today — that's not you, Bittle. I see you, and I've seen what you can do. I wanted to tell you this before. You play good hockey."

Bitty looked over at Jack, but he could feel his eyes tearing up again. He didn't need to cry every time he spoke to Jack. He swallowed hard and stood up.

"Thanks, Jack."

"Bittle," said Jack, and he held out his fist. "We'll get through this."

Bitty looked at Jack's fist before he bumped it. Jack gave him a smile before Bitty headed toward the front of the arena to collect his mother. The morning had already held a wide range of emotions for him, so he wasn't looking forward to the overwhelming emotion of seeing his mother for the first time in two months.

The tears he'd repressed surfaced again as soon as he saw her standing outside the double doors, holding her arms close to her body as if she were freezing. He immediately felt guilty for making her wait there, but he propped open the first door before he let her inside, and then he threw his arms around her in the vestibule. 

"Mama!" he said as they embraced, and the tears in his eyes evidenced themselves in his voice, which caused her to squeeze him harder. The first thing he noticed was her height; spending all of his days around large boys made him forget what it was like to be taller than someone else. The second thing he noticed was her smell — she smelled like home (or more accurately like Chanel No. 5) — and he'd forgotten how familiar her scent was.

"Dicky, sweetie, I missed you so much," she said. The hug went on for a long time, until Bitty got over the swell of sadness upon recalling how long they had been apart. Suzanne quickly put her hands in his hair. "When did this happen? You didn't tell me you were going to cut your hair."

"Just last weekend," said Bitty, and he touched his hair as well.

"You look so grown up! I can't believe this, I send my little baby off to college and he turns into a man!"

Bitty snorted. 

"Well, you look like a man to me. Come on, honey, show me your rink! It's so big! This reminds me of that arena at regionals where you were in juniors. How have the games been so far? Your daddy is so worried about you playing at this level, you know this, but I told him you got a point in your first game and to calm down —"

"It's fun so far, Mama," said Bitty, although that was not entirely true. 

Bitty led her into the arena, where Suzanne immediately pulled out her phone. "Ooh, look, there's a banner! Dicky, go over there, lemme take a picture of you." Bitty rolled his eyes only once, and out of his mother's view, before he walked to the stairs so he was beneath the SAMWELL HOCKEY banner. Suzanne took several pictures at various angles.

"Lemme show you where you can sit tonight, Mama," Bitty said, gesturing to the stairs. "That's the family section down there. Justin and Adam's parents are going to be here so you can sit with them."

"Oh, will Bob Zimmermann be there? Does he have a spot where he usually sits? Don't you think his son looks just like him?"

"Mother, if you tell ANYONE you were googling Jack, I will have a conniption," said Bitty, and he glanced down the stairs. When he left the locker room, Jack looked ready to leave, but there was no confirmation that he had actually left yet, which meant it was very possible he could still be within earshot. 

"Dicky, you have no idea. Way back when, your aunt Connie had all his little cards —"

"Mama!" Bitty interrupted loudly. "Come on, lemme show you the ice."

"Fine. I want a picture of you down the stairs anyway."

"What did you want to do after this?" Bitty asked as he led his mother down the stairs toward the ice. "I have to be back at five o'clock for the game but we have a couple of hours before then."

Suzanne stopped halfway down the steps. "You keep going. Didn't you say something yesterday about finding a kitchen you could use? Did you want to make something for the boys? Stop there."

Bitty stopped just before the glass and turned around. "Yeah, I can show you the Hockey Haus. You can't be offended, though, Mama. It's basically a frat house."

"Hmph, you speak as though your Mama hasn't been in a frat house before," she said.

"Ew," he replied.

Suzanne snapped a few more pictures of Bitty in front of the glass and they left Faber. Suzanne shivered as they headed outside; the weather was steadily taking a turn for the worse now that the season had started, and Bitty was more often cold than warm. He hooked her arm into his and pulled her in toward him as they crossed the river and turned onto Jason Street. Fortunately they were going to the Haus during the day; Bitty had learned that this block of Jason filled with drunk boys and loud music once the sun went down.

Bitty hesitated at the front door and turned to his mother. "Jack does live here, Mama, but if his family is around and you say anything that embarrasses me, I'm going to cut you off for the rest of the night," he warned.

"Oh honey, you make it sound like I'm going to scream my head off if Bob Zimmermann walks in the door."

Bitty stared at her, and she placed her hands on her hips, but then he opened the door and brought her into the kitchen. One nostril scrunched in disgust, but otherwise she didn't react. As Bitty pulled ingredients out of the refrigerator, she loaded up an unused dish sponge with soap and began to attack the counter tops.

"So you mentioned Justin and Adam's parents coming up — did everyone's parents get to make it? Did anyone have to travel farther than me?"

"I think you hold the honors of farthest parent this year, Mama," said Bitty. He waited for her to wash a countertop before he set flour and butter atop it. "I think everyone's got someone. Ollie's got his whole dang family coming in, but they live nearby so they probably didn't even need to get a hotel. He's still got great-grandparents alive! I think his great-grandma on his mom's side is over a hundred but he said she's still a spitfire." 

"I don't think I want to live to be a hundred. If it looks like I'm still alive and kicking at ninety-nine, you have my permission to throw me off the roof," said Suzanne. She returned to the sink and rinsed out the sponge before she thoroughly washed her hands.

"I suppose it depends if you're still sharp or not. Peepaw was still sharp there at the end, right?"

"Well, of course he was, but he was barely sixty. I told your Moomaw she should sue the newspaper for the cost of his cancer treatments. Everyone in that factory got sick one way or another."

"Did she?"

"No, she didn't want to make a fuss, but fuss or no fuss, there was something poisonous there that they didn't tell no one about."

Bitty was quiet for a while as he began measuring out the wet ingredients while Suzanne worked on the dry. He bit his lip and glanced over, and then said as casually as he could, "What about Dad's parents? They died before I was born, right?"

"Yeah, but I never really knew them either. I only got to meet them a few times before your grandmother had a heart attack, and then your grandpa had one just a few weeks later. It tore your daddy apart. We were still in college at the time."

Bitty did not want to think what he would do if both of his parents died in the next four years.

"Y'know, I think that's why we got married so young. He was twenty when he lost both of them, so he became part of my family, and it just made sense when he proposed senior year. I'm still paranoid about him, though, but apart from that stomach surgery he had when we first met he's always been in perfect health."

"Stomach surgery?"

"Yeah, he got in a car accident the same day as our second date. I remember he still came but he was all kinds of messed up and I told him to go right to the hospital, but he was worried I'd think he was flaking on me or something. It was cute. Stupid, but cute. Anyway, they had to stitch up one of his muscles and that's why he's got that scar by his belly button."

"Oh yeah," said Bitty. It'd been a long time since Coach felt confident enough to walk around with his shirt off, but Bitty remembered the scar from days at the pool when he was a kid. "What about MooMaw's sister? What happened to her?"

"Dicky, why are you suddenly so interested in how everyone died?" Suzanne asked.

Bitty forced a light laugh. "Sorry, Mama, you just got me thinking about the family and stuff. Cancer and heart attacks are so...typical. Nobody in our family went crazy or passed out on the train tracks or something?"

"Eric Richard Bittle, you show some respect for your ancestors. Your Peepaw suffered a long time before he finally passed."

Bitty frowned and handed over his bowl of wet ingredients to his mother. "Sorry, Mama."

"Tell me more about your first two games. All I got was an excited recap of your first point. How is it playing with those boys?"

Bitty let his mouth prattle on about the team, but his mind drifted elsewhere. He'd hoped to get some more information about his family history from his mother, but it sounded like he'd have to broach the subject more often but not all at once if he wanted to get anything from her without suspicion. He didn't even know his extended family on his father's side, if there were any. He couldn't be the first person in his family to hallucinate, but if he was, he didn't want anyone to know.

***

"Yo, Bits, you sure your mom has to go home tomorrow? You sure she can't make us dinner and pie every night?" Shitty asked as the team dressed in their stalls before the game. Shitty had made an unsanctimonious introduction to Suzanne in the kitchen of the Haus, but Bitty had been grateful he had at least been wearing pants at the time. He was considerably less crude in the presence of an adult, which led to Suzanne offering to make dinner. Johnson wandered down just before she served it and took a plate, but none of the other occupants of the Haus made an appearance before it was time to leave.

"Shits, all she made was spaghetti," said Bitty.

"Naw, that sauce, man! That sauce!" Shitty said, and he grabbed Holster by the arm and shook him. "Holster, the sauce!" Holster shrugged him off with ease.

"...You mean Prego?" Bitty asked.

"Whatever it was, it was bomb."

"Are you high right now, Shitty?" Jack asked from his stall. Bitty looked over; Jack was staring daggers across the locker room at Shitty. It was relieving to see Jack direct that look at someone else, although Shitty did not seem the least bit phased by it.

"Nah, bruh, I promised not to do that before a game."

"I know you promised. I made you promise. Are you high?"

"No!" said Shitty, and then he leaned forward to put on a sock. "That sauce, though."

Bitty put in his headphones so he wouldn't have to hear the ensuing bickering between Shitty and Jack. He dressed as Beyoncé ran circles around him, and it was easier to listen to her than anyone else, to concentrate on her instead of his worry, to forget that his mother would be nervous in the stands as he took the ice. It was only a few minutes while he pulled on his gear, but the song and a half of his favorite singer calmed him down enough to steady his heart and his mind when Coach Hall and Coach Murray announced the lines for the evening. Jack had been right; he was on the second line with Wicky and Shitty. His nerves flared up in his chest but he glanced over at Jack, who offered him another smile, and the feeling subsided.

The game was intense and only grew more frustrating as time ticked by. By the end of the second period Bitty was feeling the intensity of each of his shifts, and so far his move to the second line had proved fruitless. It didn't necessarily matter, because no one on either team had yet to score. Once the third period started, Bitty could feel himself becoming desperate, especially after they hit the final five minutes of the game and nothing had changed. The fourth line was on the ice and Bitty was zoning, trying to ignore the chatter from the bench around him and rest his body before his next forty second shift. Ransom and Holster were apologizing to each other for not communicating better, and farther down the bench Coach Hall and Jack were strategizing. Jack never stopped strategizing. The noise was a lot, and it made it hard to calm down, so Bitty glanced behind him to try to find his mother in the bleachers when Coach Murray said, "Knight, Bittle, Wicks — your line."

Bitty returned his attention to the ice and waited for his change to signal for him, and then he hopped on after Shitty. Bitty was on the ice for a second, just enough to cross into the offensive zone, when Shitty was checked hard into the boards next to him. Bitty's eyes widened and his body veered backward to avoid a residual check, but then the puck bounced off the board and right onto his stick. He zoomed away in case number eighteen from Yale wanted to check him too, and he heard a lot of surprised yelling from the other players on the ice and one voice shout, "Bitty, SHOOT!"

He looked at the net. He had a clear path but someone was headed right for him. He pulled his stick back, squeezed his eyes closed, and shot the puck, hoping it would be enough to stop the check. He was not checked. A horn blew and the crowd started roaring. He opened his eyes, dropped his arms, and looked to see Shitty and Wicky coming right for him. "Oh," he said, followed shortly by, "Oh God!" as four teammates grabbed him tight and hugged him close.

"BITTY!" Shitty yelled.

"BITS! SUCH A SICK GOAL!"

"C'mon, Bits, lead the way!"

Bitty could feel the heat in his skin as he skated to the bench for fist bumps. People swore and yelled and complimented him, but his heart was beating so fast he wasn't entirely sure he hadn't hallucinated this all, and that at any moment he'd be tugged back to center ice where he was curled up in a ball and crying. He put a hand to his chest after he made it all the way down the line. No pain. This could be real.

He allowed himself a smile.

***

"Mama, quit it. I'm all gross —"

"Oh, let me hug my son! Game-winning goal! I am so proud of you!"

Suzanne finally let go of him but Bitty couldn't relax. He felt all of the sweat and stink left on his body after a long and physical game, which only got worse in the final four minutes as Yale attempted to come back from their deficit. They never did and Bitty had been handed the puck as a memento of his first goal, with the letters GWG written after the date and the team match up. It was surreal, even more so after he entered the hall to see his mother.

"Thank you, Mama," he said quietly, his fists balled at his sides. He couldn't let go of the tension he'd felt since the horn blared. He kept waiting for the moment when this was over and he woke up, but he'd never been in a hallucination this long, and none of them had ever included so many of the same people in the same place. 

"You should've seen me in the stands all emotional. Someone stopped cheering to see if I was okay! Dicky, you were so great!"

"Thanks. I'm just — I'm still in shock, but I should really go shower up now."

He turned to leave but Suzanne said, "Oh, before you go, let me take one more picture —"

"Would you like one of us to take it for you?"

Bitty turned and tried very hard not to startle as Bad Bob Zimmermann approached them, Jack standing awkwardly behind, still sweaty and dressed in his under armour. From the corner of his eye, Bitty could see his mother begin to silently freak out and slink behind him, but Jack was already introducing Bitty to his father, so Bitty had to take Bob's hand.

"Nice to meet you, B —"

_ Crap _ , Bitty thought, as he realized he had no idea how to address Bad Bob Zimmermann, because calling him Bad Bob seemed like a terrible idea.

"Mister Bad B —"

That was even worse.

"Mister Jack's Dad."

_ You're an idiot, _ he thought, but Bob just laughed it off and said something Bitty never thought he'd hear from a legendary professional athlete: "I gotta say, I was a bit worried when I first saw you come out on the ice, but I guess big surprises really do come in small packages. That was a clutch shot, son."

"Wow, um, thank you, sir," Bitty said, still unable to think clearly as Bob put his hand on Bitty's shoulder. "I'm always so scared out there — I practically took the shot with my eyes closed."

"A good bounce is a good bounce," he said, and he looked at Suzanne, who'd regained some semblance of herself and had reappeared from behind Bitty's back. "You must be very proud of your son, Mrs. Bittle."

"Suzanne," Suzanne corrected, and Bitty wanted to die because of course she'd want to be on a first name basis with Bob Zimmermann. "I'm so proud, but Eric is lucky to get to play with Jack."

"You know, Coach Hall should try them out on the same line," said Bob, and Bitty looked at Jack for his reaction to his, but Jack looked like he wanted to be anywhere else in the world than in this situation. Bitty could relate. Jack quickly excused himself to shower, but Bitty wasn't so lucky and found himself awkwardly standing in between Suzanne and Bob as they chatted about potential line pairings and pie and how beautiful the campus was.

"Mama, I really need to shower," said Bitty when Bob finally excused himself. 

"Oh, okay, sweetie. I'll wait for you out front."

Bitty ran off to the locker room just as Jack exited, dressed in his typical post-game suit. Jack always left the arena in a suit. Bitty usually left the arena in a hoodie, although he knew for road games the suit was customary. As Bitty caught a glimpse of him leaving via the opposite door, he felt the overwhelming urge to apologize for his mother's behavior, so he ran after Jack but didn't catch up with him until they were outside. It was dark by now and the stairs were both empty and poorly lit.

"Jack!" Bitty called. Jack didn't turn but he did stop at the top of the stairs. "I'm glad I caught up with you. Good game, huh? When did you want to —"

"Bittle," Jack said, and he still did not turn around. "It was a lucky shot."

Bitty stood in surprised silence as he watched Jack descend the stairs and walk away into the darkness. 


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of random, but watch out for zombies at the end of the chapter!

Bitty was in the library for the first time ever in a half-assed attempt to study when Jack approached him. Jack had more or less ignored him since parents' weekend, and Bitty assumed he had gotten out of four a.m. practices where Jack purposely hit him, but Jack sat right next to him at the table and surveyed the textbooks and notebooks Bitty had spread out in front of him.

"You've been sitting here for twenty minutes with your books open and not once have you looked up from your phone," said Jack.

"Have you been watching me for twenty minutes? Because that's creepy," said Bitty.

Jack cracked a smile, although Bitty hadn't necessarily meant it to be funny. "I just happened to notice you were here when I got here, and when I looked up again you were in the same spot. If you wanted to go somewhere and not study, you should have just come by the Haus."

"The kitchen chairs at the Haus are not comfortable and I will never, ever sit on that horrid couch y'all put in the den."

"Yeah, but at least there you'd probably end up baking something, and that's always good for those of us who live there."

Bitty stared at Jack, who at this point looked so pleasant Bitty barely recognized him. The longer Bitty stared, the more Jack's expression fell into what looked like confusion. "Okay, Jack, you've got to pick a mood here. You can't go from hating me to chirping me and expect me to understand why the heck you're even talking to me right now."

"I don't hate you," said Jack with a frown.

"Well you certainly act like you do," said Bitty.

"If I do, I'm sorry. I've been told I can be moody." Jack looked away and Bitty's eyes followed; Shitty was sitting at a table across the room. Shitty was not paying attention to them and in fact looked incredibly stressed as he typed furiously on his computer. 

"He's right," said Bitty.

"Listen, I know I asked to try the checking practice again and then I got…"

"Moody," supplied Bitty.

"Sure. Can we try that again? Tomorrow morning?"

"Depends on what time tomorrow morning. I refuse to do anything before six."

"Six it is," said Jack and Bitty groaned. Jack smirked as he stood and pushed his chair back underneath the table. "You should've said seven."

"Is it too late to switch it to seven?"

"Yes. See you tomorrow at six."

At six o'clock the following morning Bitty entered the Faber locker room, yawning loudly. Jack was already in his stall and half-dressed when Bitty entered. "Can we get coffee?" Bitty asked after he dropped his duffel bag onto the seat next to his.

"I think there's a coffeemaker in the coaches' office," said Jack, who then put on a skate, which confirmed that they would not be going anywhere.

"Ugh, no, I want coffee, not coffeemaker coffee. I want a pumpkin spice latte." 

Bitty plopped down onto his seat and yawned again. When he looked over, Jack was staring at him. Bitty stared back, and when Jack didn't say anything but continued to silently judge, Bitty stuck his tongue out at him and Jack cracked a smile. "Put your gear on, Bittle." Bitty began to dress in his gear. Jack was done before him and began to inspect the tape on his stick. Bitty sneaked glances over at him between securing his pads. In the time that Bitty finished dressing, Jack had removed and retaped both the blade and the knob of his stick.

"You're not going to actually use your stick, are you?" Bitty asked once Jack had finished retaping the blade. 

"No, but it was wrong. I always tape seven passes and there were six, so I must've miscalculated how far from the end of the blade I was. Or Shitty was distracting me, which he has a tendency to do when I'm trying to tape my sticks."

Bitty hadn't brought a stick with him but there was one on the twig rack outside. He threw on his practice jersey and retrieved a stick from the rack to compare. They both used white tape, but Bitty only taped the middle of his stick, while Jack taped from the middle to the end. "Is your way better?" Bitty asked when he compared how much of the end of his blade was untaped compared to Jack's.

"Not necessarily. It depends where you control the puck. If you're always handling it on the middle of your stick, then you should have tape there, but if you tend to handle near the end, then you need to tape the end. We don't have a lot of time today before the rest of the guys come in but maybe next time I can watch you stick handle for a while and see if you need to change your tape job."

Bitty looked at Jack while he said this, and while Jack kept a straight face the whole time, Bitty couldn't. He turned and left the room, his cheeks overwarm as he thought about Jack saying the words _I can watch you stick handle for a while_. Jack Zimmermann was not someone Bitty wanted to watch him stick handle, not the way that Bitty's mind took it, and he had to take a few breaths to settle his color before he returned to the room and put on his skates.

"You ready?" Jack asked once Bitty had tied his laces.

"Yeah," said Bitty, and then he realized what was about to happen and realized he was not at all ready. He looked back up at Jack, who put a hand on Bitty's back and led him out of the room. The constant touch helped a little, but as soon as they hit the ice, Bitty began to shake with apprehension. He could already feel the memory of pain in his chest and wondered where he was going to go this time and how long he would be there. He wondered if Jack would realize what had happened, and how long it would take before Jack committed him to a mental institution.

"I'm going to do a soft one, okay?" Jack said, his hand still on Bitty's back. 

"Okay," said Bitty, and he could hear the fear in his voice as he replied to Jack.

"Stand near the boards. Square up and try to skate through it." Bitty squared his shoulders but could feel himself shaking as Jack came for him, leading with his shoulder. Bitty darted forward and Jack completely missed. Jack's weight hit the glass and it wobbled, but there was no deafening crunch that usually accompanied a check, so he hadn't been lying about going soft.

"Good," said Jack, "but you're not going to be able to avoid it every time. Square up again."

This time Jack anticipated his movement and collided directly with Bitty's shoulder, sending him into the glass. While it wasn't a hard or fast hit, when Jack pushed Bitty, his eyes closed, his chest seared, and he fell onto his ass on the ice. He opened his eyes; he was alone. All of the lights in the arena had been turned off but the morning sun shined into the rink through the large windows. Bitty looked around for signs of life, but the rink was clearly at rest. He took a breath. If this hallucination had meant to save him from the pain of the check, it had failed, because his butt hurt from where he landed hard on it, although he didn't feel anything from where Jack had hit him.

He attempted to rub his chest, but the plate on his pads got in the way. As usual, he could feel the pain deep inside, like something attempted to tear him apart and started there. He could also feel a tug around his waist, like he'd been lassoed and someone pulled on the end of the rope, but not hard enough to move him. He waited, but nothing happened, so he lay on the ice and looked up. It was so odd to see the rafters in the darkness like this. It made him wonder what Faber looked like at night, when the sun couldn't illuminate anything. 

"Oh come on," he said after a few minutes of staring, and just as he said it, the lasso around his waist tightened and his chest hurt again as he returned to the other Faber and Jack, who leaned down, a hand extended to help him up.

"You okay?" Jack asked.

 _Apart from going crazy?_ Bitty thought. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so," he said. 

"Do you want to try again?"

"Sure."

"Okay. I'll go a little harder."

"Honestly, Jack, I don't think it matters. It's going to happen either way," said Bitty, and Jack looked confused.

"What's going to happen?" 

Bitty squared his shoulders and skated away to try to fight some of the panic that flitted up his throat at the thought of telling Jack the truth about this. "Whatever it is that happens to me," said Bitty, with a glance back at Jack, who was skating after him. "It doesn't matter if you hit me hard or hit me soft. It happens either way."

"We'll work on it," said Jack, and he hit Bitty again. Bitty hit the boards with an "Ow!" and fell onto the ground again, but when he looked up, he panicked. Over on the other side of the ice were two figures skating alongside each other, and from their silhouettes in the morning sun he knew exactly who they were. It was eerie to watch from this point of view, but he didn't want them to see him. His eyes darted around — he was on the opposite end of the rink, but he wouldn't be able to skate to the bench without them hearing him. His best bet was the zamboni door, but even that was tricky. He was already on the ground so he crawled with as much speed as he could muster while keeping his volume undetectable, and reached the zamboni door. He pulled on it and it didn't move. It must have been locked on the other side. He mentally cursed and looked toward the bench, but they were coming back for him. There was nothing he could do, and his panic grew as his hallucinated Jack and Bitty turned the corner, in conversation, and then stopped, their eyes on him.

His chest seared again and he was back with Jack, breathing hard. Jack was kneeling on the ice next to him and placed a hand on Bitty's shoulder. "I don't know," Jack said. "I hit you harder that time and you're worse. You weren't shaking like this last time."

Bitty didn't know how to explain it, so he let Jack pull him upright without saying anything, and then took a moment to catch his breath. Jack stood and Bitty looked up. "You want to keep going? Or is that enough?" Jack asked.

"How much time before the others get here?"

"Forty-five minutes."

"Yeah, let's keep at it. Just stay close to me after I fall."

Jack extended a hand and helped him up, and Bitty darted away. A moment later, Jack hit him, and when he opened his eyes, he was somewhere else.

Jack hit him again, and again, and again, throughout November and into December. The only thing constant about this semester was the decline in temperature and the consistency that if Jack hit Bitty, Bitty would see a different place. Most of the time it was Faber, but there were a few jarring instances where he opened his eyes in the empty field, or in the gym with the painting that took up the whole wall, or in a building that looked like a cartoon rather than real life. He didn't often see another Jack or Bitty, but ran into the blond boy every now and then. None of these hallucinations lasted very long, usually just a minute or two before Bitty opened his eyes with Jack looming over him. 

The only thing that came out of these early morning meetings was Bitty's increased ability to avoid Jack. Their longer weekend practices consisted of so many hits that Bitty's chest actually began to bleed, so his goal was to avoid Jack at all costs, and as they approached winter break, Bitty outskated Jack in nearly every situation. Bitty was pleased with this, as were his coaches, and during the last game of the semester not only did he successfully avoid every hit, but he racked up both a goal and an assist to give Samwell their final victory of 2013.

Bitty and Jack took a break on the bench, both breathing hard. Jack had been chasing Bitty for ten minutes, attempting check after check, but never once did he land a hit. They shared a bottle of water and settled their racing hearts. "This is good," said Jack once they could both breathe again. "I think we're going to be unstoppable next semester. Your line with Shitty and Wicky is working well and it's only a matter of time before you start scoring more goals. Do you feel better? Are you still as scared as you were before?"

"Yes," said Bitty. "Just because I can outskate you doesn't mean I can outskate a d-pair."

"I think you can," said Jack and he set the water bottle on the bench next to him. "Okay. I'm going to go this time. You think you can avoid me?"

"You may think you're a big shot, Jack Zimmermann, but I think I've proven that I can avoid you."

"We'll see," said Jack with a grin. Bitty hopped the boards and jumped on the ice. He waited for Jack to do the same and then he headed toward the goal. Bitty skated hard and Jack attempted to keep up with him, but this felt more like a race than avoidance, so Bitty picked up speed and then coasted behind the net, leaning into the turn, before he put skate in front of skate to accelerate to the opposite goal.

"I'm gaining on you!" Jack yelled, but when Bitty looked over his shoulder, Jack was not even close. Bitty turned around and laughed.

"I bet I could beat you backwards!" Bitty called, and Jack set his face, determined not to let that happen. A decade of figure skating meant Bitty still had the advantage here, but Jack was definitely gaining on him. He coasted around the opposite net but that's where Jack closed the gap and reached out for Bitty. Bitty glanced behind him and he was headed for the boards at top speed. "Wait, Jack, wait!" Bitty yelled. He held out both hands to grab onto Jack, in an attempt to slow Jack's momentum, but Jack collided with him at full speed, both of them sailing into the glass.

Bitty closed his eyes, braced for impact, but he never hit the glass. He opened his eyes and Jack was still holding onto him, but they'd lost all traction and fell backward hard onto the ground. Bitty heard the splash before he felt it, and he and Jack looked around, confused. They were still in Faber, it was still morning, but the ice had all melted and they lay in eight inches of standing, stagnant water.

"What the hell?" said Jack as he picked up his sopping wet glove from where it had landed under the water, and Bitty realized that this was his Jack and not a hallucinated Jack. His Jack was bleeding from underneath the chin, as if he'd landed hard on it. 

"Wait, Jack, you can see —"

A loud BANG prevented Bitty from finishing his sentence and they both looked up the nearest staircase in the bleachers, where the sound had come from. Just as they looked, dozens of white-eyed, pale bodies in varying states of decay filed in, competing with one another over who would be the fastest down the stairs and to the ice.

"OH MY GOD!" Bitty yelled and he reached out for Jack, but when he looked over, more of the zombie-like creatures had appeared from the nearby bench and were already on what used to be the ice, and two had Jack by the arms. "JACK!" Bitty yelled. He lunged forward and as he did a creature grabbed him by the leg.

"BITTY!" Jack yelled as he struggled with his attackers. He turned in one direction and managed to escape the grip of one of them, and then turned his body around to be able to kick the other. Bitty did the same, kicking with his sharp skates at the creature attached to his leg. He sliced open its arm but no blood flowed from it. 

"What the hell?" Bitty said as he hacked away at the hand attached to him until it let go. He lunged forward again for Jack, who'd managed to stand and chop off the arm of a creature with his skate blade. Bitty grabbed hold of him and closed his eyes, thinking over and over _pull me back, pull me back…_ Nothing happened and Bitty opened his eyes again. The creatures were everywhere, hundreds of them filing into the building from every point of egress. They were doomed if they stayed here. Bitty clung tightly to Jack from behind, who was both trying to hold onto Bitty and swing his hand wildly in the air at something Bitty could not see. Bitty pressed his eyes closed again, and then it happened, the tug tight around his waist. His chest exploded with pain but they both toppled onto the ice in their Faber, still soaking wet.

Jack sat up and stared at Bitty, his expression shocked and horrified, his chin still bleeding in one drip down his neck. Bitty was worried he'd sliced Jack's face open with his skate in the scramble to get away from the creatures, but it didn't seem logical, and even so, how could Jack see them?

"Jack…" Bitty began to say, but he had no idea how to finish his sentence. They were both soaking wet, Jack was bleeding and breathing hard, and somehow Jack had seen what Bitty had seen. Before Bitty could find the words to explain what had just happened, Jack turned, scrambled to his feet, and fled, ignoring Bitty's shouts to stay. Bitty leapt to his feet as well, ignoring the lingering pain in his chest, and ran after Jack, who had already disappeared down the rampway. Bitty ran as fast as he could with his skates still on, but by the time he reached the locker room, Jack and his duffel bag were gone. Bitty looked around, confused. Jack was not so far ahead that he was able to remove his skates already, so he could not have gone far. Bitty ran through the locker room and toward the exit, but even after he opened the door and looked into the snowy expanse of the loading dock, Jack was nowhere to be found.

It was freezing out and Bitty was still wet, so he closed the door and returned to the locker room. He needed to shower and change into dry clothes before he attempted to look for Jack, but even if he could find Jack, he had no idea what to say. He removed his skates, his mind reeling for a way to broach the conversation without sounding insane, but no answer came. He stripped down and grabbed a towel to head to the showers.

On the way there he passed a mirror and saw the wound on his chest. It was the same place as always, directly above his sternum, but this time it'd cracked open and was bleeding, just one singular drip down onto his stomach. Bitty wiped the blood away with his towel and winced as it scraped the open wound, which was thin and only about three inches long. Bitty stared at it.

Jack's chin had been split open, and while Bitty had not been able to see the wound up close, he would guess that it was three inches long.

His father had a scar on his stomach that was thin and about three inches long.

Bitty looked back into his own eyes. He was not hallucinating. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The zombie-infested Faber is from [A Safe Place](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15788799/chapters/36739509).


	8. Chapter Seven

Even if Bitty had figured out what to say, it was useless to try to talk to Jack before his flight home. After his shower, Bitty returned to his dorm room, packed the last of his possessions, and took the campus shuttle to the airport. The flight gave him the time to plan a strategy, but that strategy came to a halt when he passed security and saw his father waiting for him.

This was unexpected. Coach Richard Bittle had made it loud and clear he did not support Bitty's decision to play hockey at Samwell and they'd exchanged nothing more than brief pleasantries since his mother moved him into the dorm back in August. Depending on traffic, they could be in the car for an hour or more before they arrived home. Bitty approached his father, one hand on his backpack, and stopped awkwardly a few feet in front of him.

"Hi Daddy," Bitty said.

"Hey there, Junior. Your mama's freaking out about the house so she sent me to get ya."

Despite the surprise of Coach's presence, Bitty was not at all surprised at the explanation as to why he was there in Suzanne's stead. Bitty cracked a smile. "Did you explain to her that I'm her son and I've lived there my whole life?"

"I tried. She didn't care. You got bags in?"

"Yeah, I think it's on carousel five."

They didn't speak much as they waited for Bitty's suitcase to round the carousel. Coach picked it up and Bitty removed his coat and sweatshirt before they left the airport to head to the parking garage. It was warm and bright in Atlanta and Bitty basked in the sunshine, which was the opposite of the gray and dreary weather back in Boston. Coach noticed Bitty's distraction and said, "Better here, huh?"

"Yeah," said Bitty, although he very quickly added, "Weather-wise, at least."

Coach pursed his lips together, which was hard to see under his mustache, but Bitty could see the tension in his jaw as they crossed several rows of cars to arrive at Coach's truck. Coach placed Bitty's suitcase in the backseat, so Bitty dropped his backpack there as well before he climbed into the front. The air hung thick and heavy in the vehicle and Bitty had to wait to close the door until Coach turned on the car and the air conditioning.

They were quiet until they reached the highway, when Coach cleared his throat and said, "How'd your first semester go?"

Bitty wasn't sure how to answer that question, not when he was still without confirmation that his hallucinations were not actual hallucinations and instead some kind of secret that Coach had been hiding throughout Bitty's life. Bitty decided to say, "Classes were not as hard as I thought they would be."

"How're your grades?"

"Okay. I passed everything."

"You know that's not what I'm asking, Junior."

"Well, I passed everything, and I am not in danger of losing my scholarship, so…" Bitty said without finishing his sentence and without looking at his father. Coach didn't respond so Bitty glanced over. As usual, his father was hard to read.

"How's the season going? Your stats look good for a freshman," Coach asked.

"Yeah! Yeah, it's going really well. Jack thinks we're in a good position going into next semester, and we might be able to make it to playoffs if we keep up like this."

"Don't get too far ahead of yourself," said Coach, and Bitty felt seven years old again. Coach Bittle had a different tone of voice than Bitty's father; it was all business with no love. "Take it one game at a time."

"Right," said Bitty. 

"You doing okay with it? With the…the physicality of it all?" Coach asked, and Bitty picked up on his tentative tone right away. Bitty looked directly at him, but Coach had his eyes on the road. 

"Dad, why were you so insistent I not play football any more after I got hit in my first game?" Bitty asked.

The air around them turned cold and not because of the air conditioner running on full blast.

"I saw how you reacted. Kids don't normally react that way to a tackle. I didn't want to put you through that again if I didn't have to."

Coach gripped the steering wheel tightly, almost like he'd been caught in a lie and was trying to worm his way out of it. Bitty looked at Coach's hands before he looked back up at his face again. Coach's eyes darted over but otherwise he didn't move.

"Is that it?" Bitty asked. "Is it because you didn't want me to get hit, or was it because you knew what would happen to me if I got hit?"

The air was tense and Bitty's heart beat hard in his chest. The feeling was so awkward that Bitty worried it was enough to cause him to hallucinate again — or whatever it was he actually did in these situations. He didn't, however. He stayed in the car and Coach eventually relaxed against the driver's seat. He removed one hand from the wheel and adjusted his grip to his usual six o'clock steer.

"We have a lot to talk about, son," he said.

***

They did not speak in the car, nor were they able to speak after they arrived home. As soon as the car pulled into the driveway, Suzanne came running out of the house and threw her arms around Bitty. She was mid-story by the time Bitty even retrieved his belongings and proceeded to follow him into his bedroom as he deposited them, and pulled him into the kitchen to assist with dinner before he could get a word in edgewise. Normally Suzanne's chatty excitement was endearing, and Bitty had on several occasions ambushed her with a long conversation as soon as she walked in the door, but Bitty was desperate to speak to his father.

He refused to be rude, however, and helped his mother prepare dinner while she rambled on about something to do with Aunt Judy. She waited until dinner was served to ask Bitty a barrage of questions about his first semester at Samwell, but unlike Coach, she seemed much more interested in his grades than anything else and refused to let him skimp on by with the reassurance that he was passing.

"What if you decide to go to grad school?" Suzanne asked, gesturing wildly with her fork, although it was dangerously close to flinging a piece of roasted chicken in Bitty's direction. "What if you need to get an internship, or your first job asks for your GPA? You might be able to keep your scholarship but your scholarship is not why you are in school."

"Mama, I know," said Bitty. "Let me get these gen eds out of the way and then when I take classes for my major, I'll do better."

"Did you decide on your major?" Suzanne asked and Bitty looked at Coach pleadingly. Coach stood.

"Suzie, this was a great dinner, as always," he said, and he brushed a kiss against her temple before he picked up his plate and looked back at Bitty. "You done, Junior?"

Bitty shoveled the rest of his mashed potatoes in his mouth before he handed his plate over to his father and also stood.

"Don't think you're going to get out of this conversation, Dicky. I know you can't declare a major your first semester, but you have to at least think about it," said Suzanne as Bitty followed his father to the sink, where Coach began rinsing before he placed the plates in the dishwasher. Suzanne continued to eat at the table, sitting a little more rigid than usual now that Coach and Bitty had ganged up on her.

She was far enough away that Bitty felt comfortable asking Coach, in a low voice, "Can we talk now?"

"Let's clean up, but then, yes," said Coach.

Bitty was not sure what Coach said to Suzanne that let the two of them go outside into the warm evening air without her, but Coach led Bitty to his old swing set in the backyard. It had seen better days; the chains were getting rusty and it was clear no one had used it since Bitty stopped playing with it back in grade school. Bitty sat on one of the swings and Coach sat on the other; it was sturdy enough to still support them, at least.

"Why do you still have this old thing?" Bitty asked as he wrapped his hands around the chains and gently began to sway back and forth.

"It's easier to leave up than take down," said Coach.

Bitty stared at him as he waited for an explanation. Coach seemed in no hurry; instead he looked up at the night sky. It was a clear night and the stars were visible, but Bitty didn't care about the stars. Coach glanced into the house on the other side of the yard and Bitty looked as well, just briefly, to ensure that Suzanne was still inside. The television was on. 

Coach let out a long sigh but still didn't look at Bitty. "I have the ability to leap between worlds at my own will."

Bitty burst into tears and Coach finally looked over. Bitty could not see through his tears but Coach did not attempt to physically comfort him and instead said, "Well, that's… that's not really the reaction I expected."

Bitty wiped at his eyes so he could see again. "I'm sorry," he said, and the tears kept coming. Coach looked more awkward than anything else and Bitty felt terrible for ruining their conversation before he could ask any questions. "I'm sorry, I just… I thought I was going insane. I thought you were going to commit me to a hospital and I could never go back to school."

"Son, no," said Coach, and he put a hand on Bitty's shoulder. "No, what you can do is not in your head. It's real. I've never met anyone else who can do it, and I never thought I would have passed it down to you, but when you got hit in that first game, I saw you disappear and I knew you had what I have. How many times has it happened since then?"

"Just since I've been at Samwell," said Bitty, and the tears stopped flowing so he wiped his eyes one last time with the back of his hand. "There was that one time in football, like you said, but I don't even really remember that. Then in my first practice, I got hit and I just… It was like I was still on the ice but it wasn't my ice. There was another person there and he recognized me but I didn't know him —"

"It was another reality. Another universe, or dimension, or whatever you want to call it. I usually say reality. When you were hit, you were pushed from this reality to a different one. Is it always that one?"

"No. No, some of them are really weird, but some of them are so similar it's hard to tell if anything's different. So that's how it works? If I get hit I'm going to get pushed into another world? You said you can do it at will."

Coach lifted his right hand and spread open the very air in front of them with his thumb and forefinger. Bitty gripped hard to the chains in his hands and shook his head as Coach began to move his hand again. "No, go back, do that again," Bitty said. Coach pinched his fingers back together, shuffled closer, and did it again so Bitty could see. From what was just the empty air of their backyard, Coach caused a diagonal fissure, outlined like the ghost of a sparkler on the Fourth of July, through what once had been nothing. Coach then placed his fingers on this fissure and pulled it open. He pulled until Bitty could see a multitude of other glimmering existences sitting as if on a bookshelf.

"And I can do that too?" Bitty asked.

"It'll take some practice. I was like you at first, unknowingly and unintentionally leaping from place to place until I realized that I could open up the shelf of realities and pick where and when I wanted to go."

"Wait, wait,  _ when _ ?" Bitty asked. "You can time travel too?"

"Hold your horses, Junior. You see how they're all lined up like this? You can finger through them, find the one you're looking for, and pull it out of the seam." Coach began poke through the different realities on the shelf, his fingers sorting between the glittering edges, but he never pulled one out.

"How do you know which one is which?"

"That's among the most difficult parts, and it only comes with time. You'll eventually begin to recognize the obvious ones, but you have an infinite number of options in here, and the farther you search, the harder it'll be to find it again. These are real worlds, son. These aren't hallucinations. The people you've seen and the places you've been — you've seen them, and you've been there. You've already affected their lives, I'm assuming only a small amount thus far, but they continue living with the memory of that interaction. You can use this to your advantage, though, and place markers for yourself to remember where you've been and where you wish to go again."

Coach grabbed onto the golden edge of a shiny reality and pulled it through the fissure. At first the shelf remained there, but once Coach extracted the portal, the seam closed and the glittering light disappeared. Coach pulled at the edges of the reality until it expanded to the size of a movie poster, but then he checked the window to the house again. Bitty also looked; his mother must still be watching television, because he couldn't see her.

He looked back at the reality in front of them, and now that it was larger it was easy to see that it moved in real time, although his view of it was fairly far away. "Is it always like that?" Bitty asked, gesturing vaguely to the distance. "It's like you're in a plane."

"No, it's different based on where you currently are, where you were at home, and where you were the last time you came here. It's incredibly complicated and I'm not going to attempt to explain it, because I can't, really. I'm just guessing."

"But you've noticed it's different," said Bitty, and Coach nodded. He let go of the edges of the reality and it stayed there, hovering in the air, not quite a part of their world and not quite a part of its own. Coach touched the surface of the portal, then spread out his fingers, like he was zooming in on a map on his phone. He honed in a few times until they looked at the backyard of their own house. It was dark there too, but Bitty could see his mother doing dishes in the kitchen.

"Can she see us?" Bitty asked quietly, and wondered at the same time if she could hear him too.

"No. We're not in it yet. We're just observing," said Coach, and he dragged the portal closer to the house, directly through the wall, until they were in the kitchen with Suzanne rather than in the backyard. Bitty couldn't hear her but he could see the water running and her hands as she scrubbed a casserole dish. "If we were to step in, however, she would. We'd come through nothing and land right in front of her. I'm sure you've startled a person or two in your accidental leaps these last few months."

Bitty remembered the blond boy with his snow shovel on the ice of Faber, who had startled at Bitty's sudden presence. Bitty nodded. 

"This is why you'll need to work on control. It's only a matter of time before you leap into the middle of danger."

Bitty swallowed hard and decided to not mention the creatures that were probably zombies, and that Jack somehow had come with him. He looked back at the reality in front of them and watched his mother as she continued the dishes. She was very similar to his mother, but this Suzanne Bittle had longer hair. He liked it.

"But you don't have to go to the same place. The reality is the size of the universe, and you can go anywhere you want," said Coach, and he zoomed out several times until they were looking at the Earth from space. He began to swipe his hand from right to left, again and again, until they locked on the moon. Coach zoomed in a bit and Bitty's eyes widened.

"Oh, wow, so you can go anywhere? How far have you gone? Have you seen aliens? Are there actually aliens?"

"Calm down, son," said Coach with a laugh. "You have the ability to go anywhere you want, but you have to consider where you're going and how far away it is from where you are right now. You've leapt before. It hurts."

Bitty placed a hand over his sternum, and Coach's eyes followed. "It hurts there?" Coach asked. Bitty nodded. "Hmm. It's on my stomach for me. It hurts worse the farther you travel. If you go a couple of feet it's probably not that bad, but if you leapt from Boston down here? That'd be enough to split you open. I've gone a couple hundred miles, but never farther than that. You can really cause yourself some damage. And if you were to leap all the way to the moon? You'd probably split yourself in half before you got there."

"Why d'you think it hurts?"

"Not sure, but when you open the shelf of realities, you're literally tearing open the space-time continuum. That energy's got to go somewhere, and my guess is that it takes it out on you. Don't mess with space until you know your limits, and don't think about messing with time if you want to travel through space as well." Coach focused again on the Earth and then turned his hand, as if rotating an invisible knob. The portal shifted horizontally. Coach began swiping his hand again from right to left, and Bitty watched as the planet was cast into darkness, and then again into light. Coach's hand moved faster and faster and Bitty began counting days until he no longer could; Coach speed reached the pace of several days per second.

"You can move forward or you can move backward. That's up to you, but it's the same as with space. The further away from your home time that you go, the worse it's going to feel when you leap inside. I've dabbled with time a bit, but I've never gone very far. It's incredibly painful."

"So I could go into the future, if I wanted? Figure out what I major in so I can get Mama off my back?" Bitty asked, and Coach laughed.

"Not really," he said. With one hand he opened the fissure again and with the other, he grabbed hold of the edge of the reality they'd been looking at and shoved it back on the shelf with the others, then closed the fissure and they returned to the standard darkness of the backyard. Coach stood and so Bitty stood as well. "There is one reality you'll never find on the shelf, and that is your own. That's because you will always be able to get home by your tether."

"My what?" Bitty asked.

Coach placed his hands on Bitty's arms and suddenly Bitty felt as though he had been shot out of a cannon. In the blink of an eye, however, they were standing in the daylight somewhere in what looked like Georgia, although it wasn't their house. Bitty looked around, confused. He recognized their location after a few scans of the scenery; it was the University of Georgia campus, the one about twenty minutes from home. The one Coach had gone to. The one Coach had wanted Bitty to go to, and he probably would have had he not gotten a scholarship at Samwell. It was warm but not hot, so it was hard to determine if it were the same day or a different one. As Bitty looked around, there were people walking the campus, but their movement seemed lackadaisical, as if no one were in a hurry.

"Why are we here?" Bitty asked.

"This is my home," said Coach. "Dicky, son… I'm not actually from your dimension."

"Wait, what?" Bitty asked, and as his surprise increased so did the feeling of a tug around his midsection. Bitty looked down at what he'd once called a lasso on his waist, but he could see nothing.

"Can you feel it? That's your tether. It's always pulling you home." 

He put his hands on it and he could feel it, a thick rope tied around his waist, but when he let go and lifted the hem of his T-shirt, it did not affect the rope at all. He touched the rope again and pulled. It gave way slightly, which frightened him, so he let go and looked back up at Coach. "Let it pull you back," said Coach as he took hold of Bitty's arm, and so Bitty did. They both returned to the backyard.

"Okay, so it brings you right back to where you were," said Bitty.

"Yes, where you were, but keep in mind it does not bring you back to when you were. Time always moves forward."

"That doesn't make any sense. Aren't space and time connected? If it's your tether, shouldn't it cement you in both where and when you were? The two are related," Bitty said.

"Your tether is a physical tie to the place where you left home. It is not connected to time — time will always continue to tick forward in your home dimension, and always at the rate that you expect. Time will always move forward when you leap unless you deliberately break it, which is why time leaping hurts so much. Here, I have something for you."

Coach removed a gold pocket watch from inside his jacket and handed it over to Bitty. Bitty looked it over — it had a long chain and half a face that Bitty could move, so he could see the date and time without having to open it. He opened the face and closed it again; it locked back together with a soothing snap. 

"Now look at this one," said Coach, and he pulled out an identical watch from a different pocket. Coach opened the face on his and inside the word HOME had been engraved. Bitty opened his and compared the two; while identical, the watch labeled HOME was four times slower than the one Bitty held.

"Why is it so slow?" Bitty asked.

"Time may always move forward, but time is not the same in every world. Where I come from, time moves four times slower than it does here. It's essentially the same otherwise, but it was an adjustment when I decided to move here permanently."

Bitty closed his watch and held it out to Coach, but Coach put up his hand. "No, that's for you to keep. You need something manual like this if you want to understand how long you've been gone. This will always keep time like home. Digital clocks and watches don't work very well and cell phones are essentially useless. Don't even think about using your phone in a different dimension. Even if you manage to find one that works on the same frequency, chances are the people you're calling have a different number. No, this and your tether will be enough for you to learn how to do this on your own. I suggest you take this break as time to practice. The hardest part will be getting the fissure open on your own, but we can work on it. After that, the hardest part will be learning how to control where you're going when you don't expect to leap."

"Thanks, Dad," said Bitty, looking down at the pocket watch. Coach placed a hand on his shoulder, but after a significant hesitation, pulled him in for a hug. Bitty hugged him back; it was a weird, awkward sort of hug, but it felt like a step in the right direction when Bitty tried to remember the last time they embraced like this.

"How long have you lived here? If this isn't your home?" Bitty asked Coach's chest. Coach let go of him.

"A long time. I was only here a day before I met your mother, and then… well, I wasn't going to leave after that," said Coach.

"Do you still feel your tether, then? If you've been here so long."

Coach touched his waist. "Yes. It was difficult at first, especially when I had to let my guard down to sleep, but I got used to it after a while."

"So do you think of this place as home now?" Bitty asked. He gestured to Coach's watch. "Or is that still home to you?"

"This will always be my home," said Coach, referring to his watch. "That's where I grew up, that's where my family is, but like I said, time moves differently there. It's gotten to the point where I can no longer visit, because I've aged twenty years but they all have only aged five. I miss it, but I have my life here. I have you and your mom — y'all are my home now."

Bitty frowned. Coach put his arm around Bitty's shoulders and led him back toward the house. "You'll understand when you're older, or maybe after you've been at Samwell for a while. The place that was your home as a child is just a version of what that word really means. You'll find your new family and your new life, and you'll realize that what you had here is part of something that is behind you, and that's okay."

They reentered the house and Bitty felt guilty for rushing his mother through dinner. Coach let go of him and headed toward the den. Bitty turned the other way to the living room, where his mother was in the recliner watching television. Although she was in the recliner, he found his way next to her and she adjusted to accommodate him.

"What'd you and your Daddy have to talk about that was so dang important?" she asked. "Hopefully not arguing more about school, I hope."

"No," said Bitty. "Just catching up on some things that were long overdue."

"Good," she said, and rested against him before they turned their attention to the Food Network, where an episode of Chopped was headed into the final round. "Oh, Lord, I hope he's not fixing to make ice cream."

Bitty smiled; he was happy to be home.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tag "alternate universe character death" applies here and in the next chapter - like I said at the beginning, the two deaths occur prior to the events of this fic and are mostly described at a high level.

Coach was correct; the hardest part about traveling through dimensions was just getting started. Over the next three days, Bitty spent an absurd amount of time alone, pinching and pulling and grabbing at the air in front of him, attempting to split it open and reveal the shiny shelf of realities that he knew was there. It felt as ridiculous as it looked, but no matter what he did, he couldn't rip open what was essentially nothing.

It was difficult to explain to his mother why, after four months away, he wanted to spend all of his winter break holed up in his room and not with his family. While his father made excuses in his favor, his mother would frequently barge into the room after a warning knock. After she caught him sitting on his bed and doing nothing, he switched to trying in front of his computer so at least he had an excuse if she walked in on him.

"What am I doing wrong?" Bitty asked his father once they had been able to escape several hours of forced interaction with his mother. Coach had taken them in the truck to one of the country roads outside of town, one of many that never had traffic on them. It was much too warm as they sat next to each other on the tailgate.

"It's not that you're doing it wrong, son, it's just that you don't know what you're looking for yet," said Coach. "Once you know how it feels, you'll be able to pull it up at will. Remember, you're trying to pull apart the fabric that separates us from the other universes out there. They're all just there on the other side."

"Yeah, but what does the fabric feel like?" Bitty asked in exasperation. "Is it smooth? Is it silky? Is it rough?"

"It doesn't feel like anything, but at the same time it is tangible," said Coach and Bitty threw his hands in the air. "I don't know how else to explain it. You'll understand when you get it."

"What makes you so sure I can even do it? You've never met another person who can do this; what makes you think that you passed down the whole ability to me? What if the only thing I can do is leap there to avoid a hit? What if I can never control it?"

"You have everything else. There's nothing that says you don't have this too," said Coach. "Try to just touch it. Once you touch it, you'll see how delicate it is and how easily you can pull it apart." Coach extended his hand and rested it against nothing, then pulled it open with his fingers, like he was shredding pork that had been cooking for hours. It came apart so easily but when Bitty extended his hand, he felt nothing and he moved nothing. "Try to feel it first. There's no use pulling it apart if it's not there."

Bitty focused on the empty space in front of him, the open air of the back of the truck that led into wheat fields and a long, straight road. There was nothing out there but the two of them and the buzzing of bugs. It didn't make sense that in all of that nothing there was a something that Bitty could feel, but he attempted to feel it anyway. He slowly extended his hand, prodding at the air with his fingers. He expected nothing, like he'd expected every time he tried this over the past three days since Coach dropped the bomb of the fabric of realities on him. Then, just lightly, almost as if it weren't there, he felt something, and Bitty understood why Coach had difficulty explaining it. He could not see it but he could touch it, and even so he could barely touch it. He couldn't decipher a texture and was unsure if it even really had a texture, but there was definitely something there, and it was more the knowledge of its existence rather than its actual existence that Bitty could feel. He touched it and pulled, and it came apart easily, an inch of a golden glittering tear.

"There you go," said Coach, his voice low and careful. "You can see it now, so you'll be able to find it again if you need to. Pull it open more so you can see inside it." 

Bitty lifted his other hand and hooked two of his fingers inside of it, then pulled it in opposite diagonal directions, the tear opening to a circular window overlooking a shelf of glittering realities that were waiting for Bitty to peruse. He pulled at the edge of each of them, registering the glimpses into the world that they provided to him. While many of them looked no different than the last, some of them were noticeably unique from just a quick glance. There was the world that looked like a sketched cartoon, with thick lines and bright colors. Some of the worlds were brighter and some darker despite the time of day, some he could tell by the movement of the people and vehicles that they were faster or slower than home.

"Now close it back up and do it again," said Coach.

He did not want to close it up and do it again. He wanted to pull out every reality and find the difference in each of them, but he obliged his father and began pushing the edges back together until it disappeared. Once it was gone, he dropped his hands and then lifted them to search for it again. It was much easier the second time now that he could tell what he was looking for, the there-but-not feeling of the fabric separating this universe from the others. He found it and pulled it open, then looked to Coach for approval.

"Good. Let's go home. I'll tell your mother you got a touch of something and want to take a nap."

"Thanks, Dad," said Bitty. He closed the fissure again and jumped off the tailgate, then rounded to the front of the truck and entered on the passenger's side. Coach drove them home and persuaded Suzanne that Bitty wasn't feeling well, but not so unwell that he needed her attention. Bitty went right into his room and closed the door. He didn't wait to sit before he felt for the fabric again and found it easily. He pulled it open but hesitated on where to go first. He could pick anything at random and just land there, but instead he searched for somewhere he knew he'd been before. The cartoon dimension was the easiest to find in the bunch, so he pulled it out, spread it out so it was the size of a door, and stepped into it.

He wondered when the pain was going to come when traveling like this. He'd expected it when he split the fabric open to reveal the shelf of realities, but that did not hurt. When he stepped from his own dimension into the other one, he felt the familiar tension in his chest, like he himself was about to be split open. He purposefully chose the same time and location to lessen his pain, but even so, his chest burned as he stepped through and lowered to a dull ache once he'd made the transition.

While the portal had been the size of a doorway when he stepped through it, as soon as he'd cleared it, it disappeared. He turned around in a complete circle, but it was gone. He could feel his tether here, which was reassuring if he couldn't find the fabric in another dimension. 

He was in his room, or what looked like his room, but his other self wasn't here. He was prepared to leap back the moment he ran into someone else, because he stuck out like a sore thumb. His bed, his desk, and the built-in bookcase all had the too-bright colors of a cartoon. It didn't look real, nor did it look as though it had any depth, but when he felt his bedspread, it felt just as it did at home. The rug felt normal, and the hardwood flooring picked up the sound of his shoes as he walked around the room. Everything was the same texture as it should be, but it just looked wrong. When he closed his eyes, the room felt like his room at home, but then he opened his eyes again he was in the cartoon world, and nothing felt right.

Footsteps down the hall startled him and he let the tether pull him home before he could be discovered. His chest hurt again, but that part he'd expected. His cartoon bedroom rushed away and he saw the glittering transition of worlds. His bedroom returned and he landed, upright, just where he'd stood a few moments before. He fell into his desk chair and pulled open his T-shirt to peek down it. The familiar line on his chest was a little red, but not in threat of splitting open. He smiled and lifted his hand again, ready to go somewhere else and explore for a while.

***

Now that Bitty could reliably open the fabric that separated realities, he decided to limit his travels to times when he would normally be alone, so early in the morning or before bed. His mother was much more pleased with how often she saw him, and he made a point to only travel to dimensions where time moved slower, so he could take his time exploring each of them while not passing as much time back at home. He'd confused himself on Christmas Eve before bed and ended up in a world where time went by faster, and after taking an hour to explore a world with no color, he returned home and realized it was almost morning and he'd missed an entire night of sleep.

By the New Year, Bitty felt comfortable with his limits in terms of distance. Travelling within Georgia was fine, although places like Florida and Tennessee stung like a papercut. Samwell was far enough to make him bleed, but the bleeding wasn't severe and stopped when he applied pressure. He only tried once to leave the country and it hurt, so he decided against traveling the world, at least not in one singular leap.

It was the final week of break and Bitty had a flight back to Samwell on Sunday. So far Bitty's travels had taken him to places both similar and weird, but he'd never attempted to travel through time. While Coach didn't recommend it, Bitty was entirely too curious about his future to not at least try to find out a few things that concerned him — what the heck was he going to major in? Would he stay on the hockey team or would he eventually get kicked off due to his inability to take a hit? Would he ever tell his parents he was gay? There were too many worries keeping him up at night that deserved an answer.

Thursday nights were Suzanne's book club, so Bitty and Coach were free to discuss Bitty's progress over the past three weeks of vacation. "I think you've got the hang of it," said Coach. "I know you've been leaping a lot these past few weeks here at home, but I really don't recommend you do it so often. The closer your leaps are to each other, the less time you have to heal. If you keep going at this rate, you're just going to have an open wound that'll need stitches. Trust me."

Coach scratched his stomach.

"I'm just curious," said Bitty. "I don't think I'll do it that much when I'm back in school. I'm going to be way too busy for that anyway."

"Be careful. Take your time and try not to interact with anyone on the other side. Don't forget that even though you're a visitor, their life is still their life. Anything you do can have permanent consequences," said Coach.

Bitty frowned; he and Coach hadn't spoken again about Coach's home dimension, but Bitty still wondered what really caused him to stay. He surely had a Suzanne Phelps back where he lived. It was a conversation for a different time, so Bitty said, "What would you say is the dimension closest to ours? One that I could find."

"Hmm," said Coach, and he grabbed a beer from the fridge as he thought about it. Before he cracked open the can, he offered it to Bitty. "You want one?"

"Why, Dad, I've never had a beer in my life!" said Bitty with a laugh as he accepted the can of Coors Light from his father. Coach rolled his eyes.

"Sure, son," he said. He extracted his own and popped the tab. "I would say, of the ones that you can easily find, probably the no shrimp dimension." 

Bitty cocked an eyebrow.

"I don't know why it's the most similar, but of the ones that I've been to that you could easily find, it's possibly the most similar. History has unfolded the same way. Our family has developed the same way. We live in the same house, called you the same name. You know that Peel-'Em-Shrimp restaurant in downtown Madison? It's a New Orleans Crawfish joint there. Look for Pull-'Em-Crawdaddies instead and you'll be in the right spot."

It felt like the absence of a major species of crustacean would cause a few significant rifts in the world, but after their beer Bitty went to his room and started searching for the no-shrimp universe. It was in fact easy to find, just a few ticks over on the shelf of realities, but Bitty had more in mind than just discovering how a world operated without shrimp. He had a lot of questions he wanted answered, so once he found Pull-'Em-Crawdaddies, he navigated his entry point to Samwell University and decided where he'd pop in.

If it were true that the time jump would cause significant damage to his body, he decided his best bet was the student health center, in case he needed immediate medical attention. He navigated through the building and located a digital clock that displayed both the date and time, and focused there as he turned his portal sideways and began scrolling forward in time. There was only one date he was sure of — Samwell University always held graduation the third Saturday in May, so he knew what date to pick to get the maximum amount of information, assuming that he graduated on time.

He didn't know when the ceremony would be but he had time to spare, so he stopped at nine o'clock in the morning on May 20, 2017, flipped the portal onto its vertical access, and stepped on through.

The pain was excruciating. While it was always a bit of a pull at his chest, like someone attempted to rip him in half lengthwise, this was the first time it felt like the attempt succeeded. He bit down hard on his hand as he cried out and landed on his knees. He was alone in a dark supply room, so he quickly ripped off his hoodie and T-shirt to reveal that he was bleeding significantly from the center of his chest, and the wound was longer than usual. He searched the shelves for gauze and grabbed a roll, then headed to the sink and turned it on. Between the gauze and the water he was able to eventually stop the bleeding and inspect the wound. It was open and aggravated, but not so serious that he would need stitches. He bandaged the area and carefully dressed before he headed to the door, and then realized he would have to figure out how to discreetly leave the building without anyone seeing him.

He listened at the door, but it seemed quiet in the hallway, so he cracked it open and peered outside. The light was off. Confused, he entered the hallway and headed toward the closest exit sign. The building looked empty. There would still be students there for summer semester, even if it was graduation day. The emptiness seemed odd, but then he passed a window and realized it wasn't just dark in the building — it was dark outside as well.

"Crap," said Bitty, and he opened one of the doors in the examination rooms. The monitor here was off but the computer was still on, and when he triggered the display, it read 9:24pm, Friday, May 19th. He walked back to the storage closet and looked at the clock there. It was wrong. Bitty groaned and looked at Coach's pocketwatch — time moved at the same pace, so he either needed to leap away and come back, the thought of which caused his chest to ache, or he needed to find something to do for the next eighteen hours before his graduation ceremony.

He slipped out of the student health center and into the night. Despite Coach's confirmation that this reality would be almost exactly the same, Bitty kept searching for differences and was disappointed that he found none. It was also over three years into the future; he was looking for the innovative changes that would occur over that much time, but apart from a crosswalk sign beeping at him, nothing seemed all that different.

There weren't a lot of places where he could spend the night in a bed without arousing suspicion. He assumed his student ID would get him into Faber, though, so he headed in that direction. It was a warm night, similar in weather to how it was back home in Georgia, so he took his time with no real aim in mind except for a nap on the couch in the players' lounge and maybe a raid of the vending machine. When he arrived, Faber was quiet. He headed for the vending machine first, which was closer to the ice, when he heard voices for the first time.

He quickly pulled up his hood to cover his face; if there were people here and he was still part of the hockey team, chances were they knew him. He skulked behind the vending machine and peered around it just in time to see Ransom and Holster laughing and pushing each other as they headed down the tunnel toward the ice. Bitty frowned; what the heck were Ransom and Holster doing in Faber when they already graduated?

The tunnel was far too dangerous if he didn't want to be seen, so he quickly crossed into a narrow hallway leading around the ice and toward general seating, where the rest of the team was less likely to go. He headed up to the concourse and then to the bleachers, where he saw the group of people for the first time.

Ransom and Holster sat next to a petite woman that Bitty did not know, but they seemed to know very well. He recognized Ollie and Wicks, sitting next to each other and holding hands. It was nice to know that after all this time they were still together, and nobody else on the team seemed to care. He'd come out to Shitty but hadn't formally come out to anyone else, although with his permission the news spread across the team rather quickly. Similar to Ollie and Wicky, nobody really seemed to care.

Apart from Ransom, Holster, Ollie, and Wicky, Bitty did not recognize anyone else in the group, but there were several others huddled together a few rows up from center ice, laughing and chatting with each other. Bitty continued his approach, crawling between the bleachers on his hands and knees, hoping to overhear their conversation without anyone noticing him. Just as he reached the next section over from them, a blond boy trotted onto the bench and turned toward the group. Bitty's breath hitched in his chest and his open wound stung as he realized it was his other self. He ducked lower and did not dare to move any closer. 

At some point this Bitty had gotten the chop as well and decided his hair looked good like this. Bitty had to agree; he had no plans on changing his hairstyle now that he'd cut all of that youthful length off. Apart from the hairstyle, the other Bitty looked a lot older than just twenty-two. It was hard to tell from this distance but it didn't look as though he had grown any more (although that was just wishful thinking), although he looked broader and more well-built. He must have stuck with hockey.

His other self ran right up to Ransom and Holster's ladyfriend and asked in a nervous, hushed whisper that still carried across the bleachers, "Where's the sign? Where's my sign? Do you have my sign?"

"Calm down, Bits, I have your sign," said the ladyfriend and she handed the other Bitty a piece of white poster board taped to a yardstick. Bitty couldn't read what it said from this angle.

"I'm sorry. I'm so nervous."

"Why the heck are you nervous? C'mon Bits, this is a long time coming for the both of you," said the ladyfriend. The other Bitty nodded and appeared to tear up, because the ladyfriend threw her arms around him and held him tightly. He held her back with just as much enthusiasm before he let go in a hurry, hopped the bench, and headed right out to the center of the ice. Bitty saw his other self take a deep breath and hide the sign behind him. Everyone grew restless and quiet, their eyes directed toward the tunnel.

Bitty recognized Shitty's laugh before he heard it; this also confused him, as Shitty was another person who should have graduated from Samwell and yet was still here. Shitty's laugh prompted a strong reaction from everyone involved: the other Bitty straightened his posture and plastered a nervous smile on his face; the group on the bleachers went silent; the ladyfriend stood and pulled out her phone. 

Shitty appeared with someone else on the bench, and it wasn't until Shitty physically turned his companion toward the group on the bleachers that Bitty realized it was Jack. Bitty threw himself on the ground in another attempt to hide; there was no way he needed Jack Zimmermann to see him hiding here in the bleachers, especially if another Bitty was alone on the ice. Jack's presence made the least sense of all — Bitty could see himself, the night before his graduation, wanting one last hurrah in Faber with his closest friends. Ransom and Holster were definitely two of those people, and if they lived in the area there was no reason they couldn't return to campus. Ollie and Wicky were his same year, so this was very much their last hurrah as well. Most of the rest of the group looked to be Bitty's age or younger, so it was probable they were friends Bitty made in future years. It was even probable that Bitty got closer to Shitty as time went on. It did not make sense that Jack was here, and it did not make sense why Bitty stood alone at center ice and everyone else seemed to be awaiting Jack's presence.

Jack looked very confused as well, but he was smiling. Jack looked a lot different when he smiled. He looked a lot more attractive when he smiled. Jack said something to Shitty that Bitty could not hear from the next section over, but Shitty just smiled at him and pushed him forward. Jack opened the door to the ice and headed out toward the other Bitty. Bitty peered over the edge of the bleachers at his other self, whose eyes were glistening with tears. Tears in Jack's presence wasn't uncommon, but these seemed to be coming from a much different place than usual.

"What's going on?" Jack asked. His voice was unfamiliar. While the accent was the same, his tone and emotion were soft, gentle, intimate.

His other self didn't respond verbally to Jack's question, but instead lifted the sign from behind his back. Bitty felt his expression compress into complete confusion as he read it — _Yo Marry Me Jack Zimmermann_. 

On the ice, Jack burst into genuine laughter. Bitty had never heard it before, but there it was, amused and relieved and echoing off the rafters of Faber Ice Arena. His other self asked a quiet question and Jack said, "Of course," before he stepped forward and enveloped the other Bitty in a deep kiss.

"What the fu —"

Bitty's chest exploded with pain before he could finish his sentence, and in the blink of an eye he'd fallen backward onto the floor in his bedroom. He rocked back and forth, his chest on fire and definitely bleeding again. Worse than any of the pain, however, was what he had just witnessed. If Coach had been correct and he had gone to the right place, he was going to propose to Jack Zimmermann the night before his graduation. There was no way the shrimp-free dimension was the most similar to his.

The door to the bedroom opened and Coach stood there, a less-than-sympathetic expression on his face. "You leapt through time, didn't you?" Coach asked.

"Yes," wailed Bitty, and with Coach right there he allowed himself to whine in pain. 

"C'mon, kid, let's get you cleaned up."

Coach helped him up and brought him into the bathroom. His T-shirt was sticking to his bandages already when he removed it. Coach pulled out the gauze, neosporin, and a clean washcloth. As he turned on the water and let it warm, Bitty thought of something he had not thought of beforehand, because he desperately needed to think of something other than happily kissing Jack Zimmermann.

"Dad?" he asked. Coach looked over. "What happened to the other you? If you're not from this dimension, what happened to the Rick Bittle who is?"

Coach hesitated. He busied himself with wetting the washcloth and then removing Bitty's bandages. Bitty waited for a response and was about to open his mouth to ask again when Coach said, "You mentioned that one of the times you leapt, you landed within proximity of your other self."

"Yes," said Bitty with worry of how exactly that related to his question.

"That went surprisingly well for you. I've come face-to-face with myself more than once, and it's never been easy. It can actually be dangerous, which is why you really need to pay attention to where you're going and who's there. It's in your best interest to observe your surroundings for a while before you enter the portal, just in case there's imminent danger or familiar faces on the other side. I'd been in control of my leaps for about three years when I ran into my other self when coming to this world for the first time. I was really pushing my boundaries back then, trying to see if I could leap into a moving vehicle or on top of a train or places really stupid and reckless like that. I don't recommend that you try it and that you instead learn from me — just leap somewhere safe and if you want to be a jackass, make sure you have a safety net."

"So…" Bitty said, and Coach took that opportunity to press the washcloth to Bitty's bleeding chest, which caused him to shout, "OW!"

"So," Coach said firmly, "I thought it would be a hilarious and thrilling experiment to try to leap into my own car as it was driving. It was the worst idea I've ever had, because while I was successful, I leapt into the car with my other self. Even though I was in the back seat, my added weight grabbed his attention and he saw me, and then… well…"

"I don't want to hear the rest of it," said Bitty quickly, and the pain in his chest was no longer the only pain he could feel. Tears sprang into his eyes and Coach took that opportunity to wipe his chest clean before he reapplied pressure to his wound. Bitty wiped at his eyes.

"I hope you don't think less of me now," whispered Coach.

Bitty looked up. "No," he said. "You're my dad. You were an idiot, but you're my dad."

"Still an idiot," said Coach with a shrug.

"Does Mom know?" Bitty asked.

Coach shook his head. "No, absolutely not. She knew that guy. He was the one who asked her out. She can never know this."

"Dad, you have to tell her. Does she know you can leap?" Bitty asked, and Coach shook his head. "You have to tell her! You've been married for twenty years! You can't spend your entire lives keeping this secret from her! How is that healthy?"

"I've kept my secret mighty fine, Junior," said Coach.

Bitty stared at his father, and Coach's eyes were lined with tears, his expression lined with shame. He refused to look back at his son. Bitty pulled Coach's hand off the washcloth and held the pressure there instead. "I can do this on my own, thank you," Bitty said.

"Please don't tell your mother," said Coach, and for the first time since Bitty had known him, Coach sounded weak and afraid.

"It's not my secret to tell," said Bitty. "But I want to change my answer. I do think less of you."

Coach let out a sigh and left the room. Bitty closed the door after him and wiped at his eyes again. Bitty had begun his night in a quest for knowledge, and now that he'd learned these new things, he decided it was best to leave the future for the future, and to never run into his other self again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The no-shrimp dimension is a nod to Buffy the Vampire Slayer, my favorite TV show. The no-shrimp dimension was a running gag in season 5. The AU part of that dimension is from [Yo Marry Me Jack Zimmermann](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14343384).


	10. Chapter Nine

Sunday's flight back to Samwell was difficult, not necessarily because of the flight itself or the travel from Madison to Atlanta to Boston to campus, but because of what waited there when Bitty returned. He felt much more in control of his at-will leaps, but that said nothing for what would happen the next time he was checked, and that provided no comfort for how he was going to try to explain the zombie world to Jack.

They had not spoken over break. Ransom and Holster checked in a few times and sent a selfie of them at Ransom's house on New Year's Eve, but that was it. The best case scenario would be that they just never speak of the situation again and pretend as if it didn't happen, but it was still entirely possible that it could happen again. If Jack wasn't so terrified of Bitty that he still wanted Bitty on the team, and still wanted to do morning checking clinics, there was a high likelihood they would accidentally grab each other and then Jack would be transported into another dimension with him. That couldn't happen without explanation, so Bitty decided it would be best to try to explain, although that could wait until Monday. He just wanted to get back to his dorm, get some food, and go to bed.

That did not happen. Bitty exited the taxi and hurried through the cold into the lobby of his dorm when he ran right into Jack, who was there waiting for him.

"Bittle," he said as he loomed directly over Bitty. "We need to talk."

"Um, okay," said Bitty. He was embarrassed by the squeak in his voice but Jack did not seem to notice. Bitty pulled his suitcase forward but Jack took it from him, and Bitty just squeaked again before Jack followed him upstairs. Bitty had no idea the state of his room when he left it; it was possible he'd packed in a mad hurry and left everything out in the open.

The room was messy but not ridiculously so. Bitty kicked a few things out of the way and dropped his backpack on a pile of underwear before he sat on the bed and left Jack the desk chair. Jack set the suitcase down and sat at the desk. Bitty stared at him, and Jack stared back, as if Jack was also unsure how to begin. This was Bitty's situation to explain, however, so he started and said, "Listen, Jack, I don't know how to explain this. I don't know what to say without you thinking that I'm literally insane, but let me preface by saying that I am not insane, but there's something I can do that —"

Jack suddenly grabbed Bitty by the hand. Bitty felt a pulling sensation and a rip in his chest and suddenly he stood in a different bedroom, still holding Jack's hand.

"WHAT?" Bitty exclaimed.

Bitty could feel the shock on his face and wasn't surprised that it made Jack smile. "Sometimes you just start talking and I don't know how to stop you, so I figured I should just skip you over here and tell you that you're not alone," said Jack, but Bitty sat down directly onto the carpet below him, his hands at his temples, unable to process what had happened. Once he could, he realized how badly his chest hurt — he still hadn't healed from his trip into the future.

"Explain," said Bitty.

"I came over to do just that," said Jack, and he sat on the floor with Bitty. "I spent the entire break worrying about this, but I had a long conversation with my father and he told me just to explain it to you, because it was possible that you'd believe me. Looks like he was right."

"Of course I believe you, but... I was the one who pulled you in, Jack."

"I thought I'd pulled you in. It's been years since I skipped at random and I had no idea what was different this time, and then I skipped us there, in that situation... I don't know what I would have done with myself if something had happened to you."

Bitty took in a long breath. This was still very overwhelming and he needed to get a grip on himself, especially with his tether threatening to pull him back at any moment. He looked away from Jack and realized for the first time they were in his bedroom in some other world. It fit him very well, although it was a bit dated; one wall was just filled with framed jerseys from his life, all the way from mites to juniors. He always wore number eleven, like his father, until he hit juniors and lost the excess one. The other walls were also hockey related, with a poster of the Penguins and the Canadiens, as well as a few signed photos of players he must have idolized in his youth. There was a large bookcase containing all of his trophies, which spilled into another bookcase that also contained books. There were very few photos of his family together, but there was one on his desk with his parents holding each other, a young Jack on his father's shoulders. Jack was missing teeth but so was his father.

"Where are we?" Bitty asked after he looked his fill.

"This is my room in Montreal," said Jack.

"But not my Montreal," said Bitty as he touched the insistent tether at his waist.

"No," said Jack. "I'm... I'm not from your home."

Bitty looked into Jack's eyes for the first time since they leaped here, and Jack looked ashamed to admit it. "You're not? How long have you been there?"

"You know when," Jack said, and Bitty did. "How long have you been able to skip?"

"Skip?" Bitty asked. "It's called leaping."

"Um, I'm pretty sure it's called skipping," said Jack.

"My dad has been leaping longer than you've been alive. It's called leaping."

"My dad's older than your dad and he calls it skipping, so it's skipping," said Jack, and he smiled when Bitty's nose scrunched in disgust. "Do you know anyone else who can do it?"

"No, only my dad," said Bitty.

"Same here. I don't even think my grandparents could do it, but they're not around anymore so I can't ask. I thought he and I were the only ones until right now. I was just here a few minutes ago so they should be downstairs making dinner if you want to stop down and say hi. I'm sure my dad's got a million questions for you, and maybe he can help us figure out how to get you to stop doing this at random..." Jack paused. "That's what's happening, isn't it? You're getting hit and it pushes you into a skip?"

"Yes," said Bitty. "And honestly, Jack, I thought I was going insane until I got home and my dad explained the situation to me. I thought I was hallucinating and my reaction to the hit wasn't the pain of getting hit, or the pain of actually leaping, it was that I had no idea what the heck was going on."

"Then hopefully we can actually make some progress now," said Jack. "C'mon, get up. They'll probably want us to stay for dinner. Did you eat?"

Bitty stood up from the ground but grabbed at his chest as he did so, the strain of pulling himself up ripping at his open wound again. "You okay?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, yeah... I just went a little too hard over break and I'm not completely healed up yet. I think I might have reopened something."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't even think about that," said Jack, and he put a hand to his own chin to check for blood. Bitty looked; there was none, so at the very least the distance between Samwell and Montreal wasn't significant enough to cause damage. "Let me introduce you to them and we can take a look at you. They're going to be pretty excited about you. Oh, just so you know, my dad here isn't the dad you met Parents' Weekend. This is Home Dad. You met Other Dad."

"Other Dad?" Bitty asked, and he paused at the door to Jack's room. "So you didn't all come over as a family? It was just you?"

"Yeah. This world and your world are almost exactly the same except, really, for the fact that here it's against the rules to play NCAA hockey after you've played juniors. Juniors is considered professional level, even if it's not really the NHL or the AHL, so once you sign a contract to play you're disqualified from amateur sports like college hockey. When I withdrew from the draft, that was kind of the end of it for me, and I didn't realize how much I wanted to still play until it was too late."

"So you went looking for another dimension to live in where you could still play after juniors?" Bitty asked with a laugh. "Of course you did. Only you would exploit inter-dimensional travel to play hockey rather than for wealth or fame."

"Eh, my family's already got money and I don't care about the rest of it. I just want to play hockey," said Jack.

"So you found my world. Was it the only one that you found that you could leap into?" Bitty asked, but Jack shook his head. "So what was it about my world that made you pick it?"

Bitty wondered what the differences here in Jack's world were, apart from the random rule regarding amateur status. It was possible, like the no shrimp world, that there was a food Jack was allergic to or a better climate, or... Bitty looked into Jack's eyes again and realized Jack was frowning. Bitty remembered Coach's first visit to Bitty's universe and his heart plummeted as he realized why Jack was able to seamlessly integrate into this new dimension with a set of existing parents. 

"He died, didn't he?" Bitty asked, and Jack nodded just once. "How did you convince his parents to even see you, let alone replace him?"

"It was easy," said Jack, although nothing about his tone suggested that he was proud of it. "I stepped in immediately after it happened and they were over the moon at a second chance. It's had its consequences and maybe it was a horrible thing to do, but I get to come back here and visit my parents whenever I want. The two sets are similar enough that on the day-to-day it feels normal, but I know there are times when they regret their decision. I know there are times when I regret it as well, but I would never take their son away from them again."

Jack turned and opened his bedroom door. Bitty followed in silence, the mood drastically different than it had been when Jack took hold of him and brought him here. Jack led Bitty to the stairs and noisily bounded down them to alert his parents of their presence. They weren't on the first floor yet when Bitty heard Bob call, "Are you back already? You forget something?"

"You can call him Bob, by the way," Jack said as he reached the end of the staircase and turned back to Bitty. "None of that 'Mr. Jack's Dad' nonsense."

"Oh hush," said Bitty and he swatted at Jack's arm. When he looked up, Bob Zimmermann stood in the doorway to what looked like the kitchen alongside Alicia, who Bitty had yet to meet. Bob looked surprised to see another person present and turned to Jack for clarification.

"Maman, Papa, this is Bitty. He can skip too," said Jack, but he stopped there and did not clarify how he and Bitty knew each other.

"Really?" Bob breathed, and the concern in his expression gave way to fascination. He approached them where Bitty still stood on in the final stair, which evened his height with Jack. Bob extended a hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Bitty. I've never met another person — well, apart from my son — who could skip. Can anyone else in your family do it as well?"

"Just my father," said Bitty as he shook Bob's hand.

"Amazing." Bob turned to the doorway and extended his arm to Alicia, who had been embracing Jack. She let go of her son and stepped forward. "This is my wife Alicia."

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am," said Bitty and he shook her hand as well. This Bob looked the same as the Bob from parents' weekend, and while at the time Bitty realized how much Jack and his father resembled each other, Jack also closely resembled his mother but in a very different way. From Jack's build, hair, and jawline, he was very clearly Bob Zimmermann's son, but when Jack turned to the side, his mother's features could be seen in his cheekbones and eyes. It was eerie how well of a blend that Jack was between the two of them, as if he'd pulled the best of both of them into his appearance. 

"Come on in, Bitty. We're just about to make dinner if you want to stay and eat," said Alicia.

"I'd love to," said Bitty, and he stepped down the final stair. He winced as his feet hit the floor and Alicia put her hand back out and rested it on his shoulder. 

"Are you okay?"

"Oh yeah, sorry. I just was already kind of raw from my last leap and Jack brought me here without warning —"

"Let me take a look at you," said Alicia, and she brought Bitty past the kitchen to the first floor bathroom. 

The house was extravagant, as Bitty expected. Jack's bedroom was as large as the master bedroom in Bitty's house and while filled with items from Jack's childhood, Bitty could tell from the quality of the furniture that everything was expensive. It was the same everywhere else — decorated to a T, filled with sturdy, matching furniture and antiques to give it a theme. When they reached the bathroom, Bitty sat on the closed lid of the toilet and removed his shirt. Alicia looked at his chest.

"Yep, that's skip injury all right. I can't tell you how many times when Bob and I were first together he'd come by bleeding like this from his eyebrow. He always told me it was from hockey, but it didn't take long to wonder how he managed to always get his face sliced open in exactly the same spot. Jack has it better, since it's under his chin, but you've got the best yet. Unless you're walking around with your shirt off, you'd never see it."

"Yeah, my father's got it lower on his stomach. It's weird that it's in different spots for different people," said Bitty, and he winced again when Alicia touched his chest with antiseptic.

"Sorry," she said gently. "I don't want to take any chances."

Bitty looked up into her eyes, which were the same as Jack's. Bitty usually avoided looking directly into Jack's eyes because Jack had a tendency to look disdainfully back at him, but Alicia's gaze was very kind. Her eyes were also very different than any others Bitty had seen in his life.

"I'm sorry if this is a rude question, but what is that in your eyes?" Bitty asked.

Alicia looked surprised and glanced in the mirror over the sink. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"In the center of your eyes, you've got those dots. The little black dots."

"You mean my pupils?" Alicia asked.

"Sure?" Bitty guessed. The word was completely foreign to him, and Alicia seemed to pick up on this because she leaned in close to him and searched both of his eyes.

"Huh, I suppose you don't have them," she said. She finished cleaning his wound and reached in the medicine cabinet for a bandage. "Well I guess we found the difference between our worlds. Everyone here has these black dots in their eyes, which we call pupils, although if you have a darker colored eye, they can be harder to see. They expand and retract in response to light so you can see better in the presence and absence of it."

"Does it hurt?"

Alicia laughed. "Oh, no. You don't even feel it. Let me show you." Alicia pulled her phone out of her pocket, turned on the flashlight, and waved it in front of her eye. Bitty watched, mildly disgusted, as the black dot in her eye expanded and contracted in reaction to it.

"Weird," he said.

"I'm more curious how your eyes work without them," said Alicia, but Bitty had no answer for her. She placed a new bandage on his chest, which she then said, "It's kind of pointless to even put this on knowing you'll be skipping back in a little bit, but it'll keep it clean while you're here."

"Thank you," said Bitty and he put his shirt back on. Alicia put away the antiseptic and the bandages, and led Bitty out of the bathroom.

"How long have you and Jack been together?" Alicia asked. "He comes to visit when he can and usually gives us an update on what's he's been doing or if he's seeing anyone, but I don't think he's mentioned you before —"

Bitty's eyes widened and Alicia kept talking until she looked back at him and saw the look on his face. Jack had a lot of secrets; while an overdose at the age of eighteen was surprising, and his ability to skip was very surprising, nothing was more surprising than Alicia Zimmermann calmly asking how long Bitty had been dating her son. Not only was Jack the last person in the world Bitty would have considered dating, he also never considered it because as far as Bitty knew, this Jack was straight.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Alicia quickly. "I just assumed. I'm so sorry."

"No, it's okay. I am gay, I just… am not dating your son. I never thought of him — he's actually kind of an ass. Which is to say, he's kind of not nice to me, so I don't think he even likes me as a friend, or a teammate, much less…like that." 

Alicia laughed easily and loudly. "Oh honey, of course he likes you. It's always been difficult for him to warm up to people and he gets extraordinarily grumpy about his hockey. Spend some time with him away from the rink and I promise he'll loosen up." 

They entered the kitchen. Bitty tried very hard not to fawn over the state-of-the-art appliances or the vast counter space, so he focused on Bob and Jack standing at the island. Bob had vegetables and a cutting board in front of him, and Jack was not helping at all. Jack, actually, was bright red in the face and when he spotted Bitty he quickly looked away, which made Bitty think that Bob had just asked him the same question. 

"Can I help?" Bitty asked.

Bob looked up. "Of course! Alicia, why don't you take this one into the living room with you," said Bob and he directed Jack out of the room before he handed Bitty his knife. Bitty began dicing vegetables.

"Does Jack not help with dinner?" Bitty asked once Jack and Alicia left the room.

"I love my son very much, but no, I'm perfectly fine with him not helping with dinner," said Bob with a quiet laugh, and Bitty laughed too. He'd never thought to ask Jack to help cook at the Haus, but then again, he never wanted Jack around more often than he was. Early morning checking clinics were enough.

He paused, thinking about Jack's laugh echoing off Faber's rafters and the expression of pure love on his own face before Jack kissed him. Bitty pushed the thought away and instead refocused on the vegetables in front of him, but the focus did not last long. He could feel the pull of his tether as he completed his task, and he began to wonder about the other him in this place. 

"You look like you've got a lot on your mind," said Bob when he took the cutting board away from Bitty and dropped everything into a dutch oven.

"Just thinking. I'm still fairly new to this whole leaping — or skipping, or whatever you want to call it — thing, and every time I go somewhere new, I can't help but think about where I am in this world, and where I fit in. So far it doesn't seem too different, but if Jack's been gone since he was eighteen, it makes me wonder where I ended up."

"Does his absence make that big of an impact on your life that you might end up somewhere else?" Bob asked.

"Somewhat," said Bitty quickly; Alicia's assumption was still fresh in his mind. "It just makes me wonder. I've always had a bit of an issue with physicality and checking, and Jack's been there to push me through it. We spent this last semester working on how I can play to my strengths to avoid a check altogether. If he hadn't been there to do that, would I have even made it to my first game? Or my second game? I can't imagine I would have been that successful without him. It kind of makes me want to see if I got cut from the team."

Bob turned to Bitty, one hand on his spatula in the pot but the rest of his body in Bitty's direction. "You said you're new to this, so you're still learning, but let me give you a bit of advice. There's an infinite number of universes out there, which means there's an infinite number of what-ifs that you can chase. There are places where you're successful and places where you're not, but you could waste your life searching for that best case scenario. There's no need to find out if you're happy somewhere else, because your happiness comes from yourself, not from another situation."

Bitty frowned. "Isn't that what Jack did, though? He left a bad situation here and found a place where he could be happy again."

Bob looked toward the door before he turned back to the pot in front of him. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, as if he was afraid of being overheard: "Jack's accident left him in a dark place and he spent weeks in deep regret and despair over the choice he made to leave the draft. It felt as if there was nothing his mother or I could do to turn his life around, and I worried every single day that if I took my eyes off him, he would be gone. I acted out of desperation but once I planted the seed, it was there, and I couldn't take it back. I wish I hadn't taken the easy way out, but Jack is happy, the other Bob and Alicia are happy, and I would never take that away from them. I just miss him."

"He comes back and visits, doesn't he?"

"When he can. He did a lot more when he first left but it's been five years and he's moving on. Doesn't help that I can't text across dimensions, and I can't talk to my friends about how well he's doing."

"Why not?"

"He left," said Bob. "We had to account for his disappearance, because people would begin to notice after a while that he was gone. We reported him missing."

Bitty's eyes shot back toward the doorway, but it remained empty. Bitty stepped closer to Bob, who was staring into the pot of softening vegetables, a sad, empty look on his face. "That must be hard on you and Alicia," Bitty said.

"It is what it is," said Bob, and he looked over at Bitty, forcing a smile. "The most important thing is that Jack is happy. He's playing the sport he loves, he's got his foot in the door of the NHL, and he's a good enough kid that he comes back and sees his folks when they need to see him. I will always take this over what could have happened."

Bitty didn't push, but he could see that Bob carried a large weight on the other side of his friendly smile. Bitty smiled back at him and asked what else he could do. Bob directed him to make meatballs for their soup, and so Bitty stepped away and did that, thinking about Bob and Alicia having to deal with the secret of a non-missing son, and the Bob and Alicia back home, having to deal with a son who was not really theirs. When Jack and Alicia returned to the kitchen, Jack looked happy. Bitty supposed that was enough.

After dinner, Jack took Bitty back upstairs rather than just letting them skip home from the kitchen. When they arrived, Jack turned to Bitty. "You want to take us back? Or I could, I suppose, but it'd probably be easier if you just let your tether pull us back to your room."

"Yeah," said Bitty, and he extended his hand for Jack to take. Bitty's chest hurt but it didn't feel like it had split open again after the leap. Jack checked his chin but there was no blood, so he dropped Bitty's hand and stood awkwardly in front of him, as if he didn't know what to do with his hands now that he'd let go of Bitty.

"So, you want to meet tomorrow? We can see if you'll still leap now that you know what happens," said Jack.

"Sure," said Bitty. "Do you have class in the morning? Maybe we can get coffee afterward. Your mom said that we should try to be friends, and that you'll be nicer to me if I get you away from the rink."

Jack let out a genuine laugh, and Bitty realized upon hearing it that not only was it the same one he heard echo off the rafters in Faber, but it was the first time he'd ever heard this Jack laugh. His smile was contagious, and Bitty found himself unable to prevent himself from smiling back at Jack. "I'll give it a try," said Jack with a shrug, "but you're very small and annoying, so I can't guarantee anything."

Bitty laughed. "Okay, Jack. See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow, Bittle," said Jack, and he left the room smiling. Bitty sat down at his desk but his expression fell once the door closed, and he wondered if he should convince Jack to visit Bob more often.


	11. Chapter Ten

"Okay, Bittle, focus on staying present. A check can't possibly hurt more than being literally ripped apart by the fabric of spacetime," said Jack the following morning as he and Bitty sat on the bench in Faber, an hour before the rest of the team was due to arrive for practice. It was one of those mornings where Bitty was up so early he felt sick, but Jack seemed his usual determined self when they met up in the locker room. Jack was no more or less pleasant than he ever was, which was disappointing after Bitty was able to see Jack's real home and meet his real parents just the night before.

The act of staying present was something that Bitty had worked on since the moment his father explained inter-dimensional travel to him. It wasn't as simple as just staying present, or worrying about the potential impact of a check, because Bitty still didn't understand how he was able to leap without opening the shelf of realities in the first place.

"I'm not sure how to do that," admitted Bitty.

"Do you ever meditate?" Jack asked.

Bitty looked at Jack skeptically. "No. Do you?"

Jack shrugged his shoulders, but a smile working at the corner of his mouth betrayed his attempt to be casual. "It was something my therapist recommended. You can't attempt to control yourself if you don't understand yourself, and meditation will help you focus on who you really are so you can see what's out of alignment. I bet if I attempted to hit you while you were meditating, you'd be less likely to skip."

"Okay, so you just want me to close my eyes and you won't hit me? Because if so, I think I'll just —" Bitty lay down on the bench, curled up, and closed his eyes. Jack smacked him in his heavily padded leg.

"No, Bittle, this is not an excuse for sleep."

"I'm not sleeping! I am in a state of deep meditation, and in order to do so I'll need to regulate my breathing and possibly start snoring. Don't bother me, it's very important I get this right."

"The mental health center puts on a meditation class every Thursday. We're going. Until then, get on the ice."

Bitty grumbled but got up and headed onto the ice. Jack followed and as soon as Bitty approached the boards, Jack slammed into him. Despite knowing it was coming, and knowing what would happen as a result of it, Bitty still opened his eyes in a different world. Jack was smart enough to hold onto him and they both fell onto a gym mat before they paused to take in their new surroundings.

"Have you been here before?" Jack asked. Bitty followed his gaze up to the backdrop to the right of them. Bitty had been here twice now; the backdrop was a lot less frightening when it was clear it wasn't the actual world and instead a painting.

"Yeah," said Bitty. "There's no one here this time, but I've been here where people are floating in front of that thing. The first time I came here I thought it was a painting come to life, but I think it's just a set for a play or something."

"I like it," said Jack. He looked around. "Kind of looks like they do acrobatics here. If it's a play we should come back and see it."

"I wonder if there's a universe that is just purely a painting come to life," said Bitty as he reached out for Jack again. Jack grabbed his hand and Bitty allowed his tether to bring them home. After they returned to home ice, Jack removed his glove to wipe at his chin, but replaced his glove after he verified he was not bleeding.

"I bet there is a place where paintings come to life. I bet if you can think of it, it exists," said Jack. "Okay, skate away from me, but pay attention, Bittle. The point is to not skip."

Bitty got up and began to skate away; Jack's suggestion was easier said than done, and for the next hour they leapt from dimension to dimension until Jack's chin began to bleed and they heard the rest of the team in the locker room. Bitty took a break on the bench and rubbed at his chest, which prompted Jack to say, "If you learned to concentrate, your chest wouldn't hurt so badly."

"Shut up," said Bitty with a frown, and Jack squirted him with water before he headed down the tunnel. 

The Jaeharris Center for Mental Health hosted a free meditation class every Thursday at six o'clock. Bitty was not bought into meditation as a way to control his leaping problem, but Jack seemed adamant that it would help, so at five o'clock Bitty and Jack ate chicken tenders in Commons and then walked across the quad to Jaeharris, a building that looked like it used to be a house before the university purchased it.

There were only a handful of people there, but a large area had been cleared in the first floor conference room for people to sit on the floor. Jack picked up a pair of yoga mats from the pile against the wall and handed one to Bitty. They spread their mats next to each other on the floor in the second row of students that faced their guide: a woman in workout gear and no shoes. Bitty felt out of place in jeans.

"Thank you for coming," the woman said. She had a very soothing voice. "We'll spend the next hour in a state of relaxed but focused meditation. If this is your first time at the Jaeharris Center, welcome. The point of our session today is for you to be able to achieve a singular thought track, to remove those stray thoughts that bombard our everyday mind, and to bring yourself back to a place of a balance. Meditation is not something you can do only once and expect it to cure your ailments; it needs to be a habitual practice in order for you to continue to place your energy where you need it to be. We hold this session every Thursday at six o'clock. You are always welcome to attend, but I encourage you to take what you learn today and bring it back home, because the more you practice, the easier this will be."

Bitty frowned and glanced over at Jack. He did not want to devote an hour to this every day, however Jack seemed perfectly content. Bitty looked back toward the front of the room at the blonde woman who spoke in an even manner. "We're going to set a goal for the newcomers in the room. Meditation can be difficult if you are not used to it, and while some of you may be comfortable sitting here for an hour, I can't expect that from all of you. I'm going to set a goal of twenty minutes for you newcomers, and we will work together in a guided meditation state for that time. I will be here for an hour. If you are finished after twenty minutes, you are welcome to quietly get up and leave, but be careful not to disturb those around you who wish to stay."

Bitty held in a groan. Twenty minutes seemed like forever.

"As we begin, please make sure you are comfortable. There are mats against the wall over there if you need them, but if it is easier for you to sit on a chair or on the couch, you can do so. Just ensure you are upright — meditation can lead to sleepiness, so you'll want to sit up and keep your back as straight as possible. Stay alert."

Bitty straightened his back and rolled his neck.

"Close your eyes and relax. Breathe normally and automatically. If you have thoughts in your mind, clear them away at this time. Give yourself a minute to adjust, but once you've gotten out all your itches, sit and don't move."

Bitty opened his eye and glanced at Jack, who sat peacefully, his expression neutral, his eyes closed. Bitty closed his eye again. For a moment, his mind was blank, but as the silence ensued, he wondered if he would have time after this to go back to the Haus and bake before starting homework.

"As you sit there and relax, you may be inundated with thought trains. Don't let them pick you up and take you for a ride. Recognize that they want to take you, but let them pass by without engagement. It's okay that they're there, but your goal is to watch them as they pass you by."

Bitty focused on nothing, on letting his mind empty into nothing, and let his next thought pass him by, although it would have been easier to ride with it.

"If your mind is going crazy right now, that is okay. If you are agitated, that is okay. The point of your session today is to train yourself up to longer periods of calm. You are here, and that is the beginning. You are here to learn how to be present. So if you are experiencing a wave of thoughts, just focus on letting them go. That is all you need to do."

Bitty did; as his brain presented thought after thought that threatened to take him away, he refused to let it happen. It was boring, and it was frustrating, and several times he caught himself riding a train to another place and rooted himself back in that room next to Jack, his eyes closed, his breath even.

Twenty minutes had never passed so slowly, but once the woman at the front of the room said, "That was twenty minutes. If you wish to stay and continue to train your mind, to settle into calmness, then you may do so."

Bitty was ready to leave, but when he looked at Jack, Jack did not move. Bitty closed his eyes again and waited, refusing to travel away from his mat until Jack shifted beside him. He opened his eyes and looked over. Jack nodded to him and they quietly stood, returned their mats to the pile in the side of the room, and left the building.

"What'd you think?" Jack asked.

"I don't think I can do this," said Bitty.

"Can you try? For me?" 

Bitty looked at Jack; Jack looked hopeful, his eyes wide and expressive. Bitty had no idea how he'd gone so many months without realizing Jack had pupils, but he supposed he didn't even know what they were until Alicia explained them to him. "Okay," said Bitty. "I'll try."

They headed toward the river. Bitty had reached the other side of the bridge when he realized that Jack was not with him and had stopped at the center, looking to the south, his elbows resting on the railing. Bitty turned and stepped beside him. The sun had been down for a long time now, so the river was dark but its banks were illuminated by the evenly placed streetlights. Being January, it was still very cold, but the river had not frozen over. As it babbled beneath them, Bitty looked at the snow on either side of it, piles of it threatening to fall into the water and disappear.

"I was thinking while we were in there —"

"You weren't supposed to be thinking," said Bitty, and Jack smiled.

"I tried not to, but it's still difficult sometimes," he said. "I know you haven't done this for very long, the skipping thing, so you might not have an answer to this. What's your favorite place that you've ever been?"

"I have one," said Bitty immediately.

"What is it?"

Bitty stepped closer and pulled open the fabric of reality in front of them. Jack watched in silence as Bitty sorted through the shelf until he found what he was looking for. It was easy to find, so Bitty pulled it out, spread it open, and he and Jack stepped through it. 

They had not traveled through time, but the difference in sunlight was noticeable immediately. No matter when Bitty leapt into this particular dimension, it was always daytime, although he could never actually find the sun. He and Jack left the cold, dark bridge behind and instead stepped into a majestic field overlooking rolling hills. Bitty inhaled deeply; the scent of the flowers was fresh and crisp. The never-ending rolling hills had an immediate calming effect, which was much different now than the first time Bitty had been there.

"This is beautiful," said Jack as he unzipped his coat and pulled his hat off his head. Bitty did the same. There was no need for winter clothes in this climate. This was an eternal spring full of warmth and peace. Jack began to meander through the fields and Bitty followed, and as he did, he had significantly fewer thoughts in his mind than he had when trying to focus on the floor of the Jaeharris conference room. "How often do you come here?" Jack asked.

"Not too often. Like you said, I've only been doing this for a little while. Out of every place I've seen, this one feels the best when I'm here," said Bitty. He reached down a hand and skimmed it across the buds of the flowers. The wind picked up as he did, blowing a gentle breeze against him, which skittered up his back and filled him with a sense of warmth and contentment. He had no reason to ever leave such a place, and the longer they walked the fields, the less he wanted to go anywhere else.

"Where's the sun?" Jack asked. 

Bitty looked over. Jack had stopped and craned his neck up, searching the empty blue sky.

"I don't think there is one," said Bitty.

"But there's light."

"Yeah. The light must come from something else," said Bitty with a shrug.

Jack shrugged as well and they continued walking until Jack found a particularly pleasant hill, because he plopped down on it and began looking at the flowers that surrounded him. Bitty watched, attempting to contain the smile on his face as Jack leaned close to examine a red flower that had at least a hundred petals that swirled around a yellow center. The petals were so intricate and symmetrical they looked fake, almost like the kind of piping Bitty would do on a large cupcake. Jack leaned in so close his nose nearly touched it, and then he sat upright and scrunched up his features into a displeased expression. "I don't like the color of this one," he said. "It doesn't seem like it should be red."

"Okay," said Bitty with a laugh. "I didn't realize you had such strong opinions on the color of flowers."

"It just doesn't seem right, you know?" Jack said. He reached out a finger toward the edge of it and said, "I think it should be softer. Like maybe pink — oh!"

Jack let out a delighted laugh when his finger touched the edge of the flower and the color spread from one petal to another, from a dark, deep red to a pleasant baby pink. Jack turned to Bitty and Bitty felt as if in that moment he would explode, because Jack's smile was so wide, his cheekbones high, his eyes crinkled with laughter. Bitty may have only known Jack for a few months, but never once in their acquaintance had Jack looked so happy. It made him look young, but it made Bitty wonder if Jack had ever been this carefree in his existence.

"Much better," Bitty said after he swallowed his mixed emotions over Jack's happiness. Jack jumped to his feet, found another flower he did not like, and touched it. The color changed there as well, which made him smile again. Then, after a few adjustments, Jack placed his hand on a red tulip and the color changed not only for that particular bud, but for all of the buds in the field, spreading like a ripple in water with Jack at the center.

"I like this place," said Jack. "I get why it's your favorite."

"I didn't know you could change the color of the flowers," said Bitty. "I like it because it makes me feel better when I'm here."

Jack paused and gave the field a long, sweeping look before he returned his attention to Bitty. "Yeah, I get that. I have my moments when things are really good, and I have moments when things are bad, but here it feels like nothing will ever be bad again."

"We shouldn't stay," said Bitty with a shake of his head. "That can be dangerous. What about you? What's your favorite place?"

Jack sat down and opened up the fabric of reality again. Bitty walked over and sat next to him, watching as he picked through the different dimensions on the shelf. It was reassuring to see him do this, knowing that although Jack was from a different place, the way he traveled was the same. It took Jack longer to find what he was looking for, but then he pulled it out in front of them and quickly turned it to the side.

"You're not going to pull me through time, are you?" Bitty asked as Jack began scrolling backward, the days and nights passing quickly.

"We won't go far, I promise," said Jack. "I want to show you something specific, but it happened a few weeks ago. It won't hurt too much."

"You said that before you hit me the first time and then I literally split my chest open," said Bitty.

"You'll be okay," Jack said, which did nothing to reassure Bitty of his safety. Jack found the date he was looking for and then shifted the portal vertically so they could step through it. Fortunately the time jump was not as significant as Bitty's glimpse into his possible future, because when Bitty came out the other side, his chest hurt but not so much that he needed to check for blood. Jack wiped his chin with the back of his hand but seemed satisfied, and so Bitty looked at where Jack had taken them.

It could not have been a more different setting. From the rolling fields of the beautiful and peaceful day, Jack had taken them to the heart of a city that Bitty did not recognize upon first pass. It was cold here but not as cold as it had been at Samwell when they left, more so the weather that preceded winter but still warranted a coat. The sky was getting dark but the sun had not set just yet. They were standing on the sidewalk amid a mob of people, all wearing jerseys and headed in the same direction. Bitty rolled his eyes. 

"Let me guess, you're taking me to a hockey game?" Bitty asked.

Jack smiled and nudged him. "Not just any hockey game. Wait here a sec, let me get tickets."

"I'm capable of purchasing my own ticket," said Bitty.

"Nah, these are special tickets. I'll be right back." 

Bitty stepped to the edge of the pavement and allowed the rest of the fans to pass by as they headed into the arena. He was not as well versed in all of the NHL teams as he should have been. Atlanta did not have a professional team anymore and the closest one was probably Nashville, although he'd never been a Predators fan. He did not recognize the logo on the jerseys that passed by, so he didn't know what city they were in, and knowing how they traveled, it was entirely possible this team did not exist back home. There were a few jerseys that he did recognize, so while he did not know the home team, he knew they were playing Tampa.

Jack was only gone a few minutes, but when he came back he'd exchanged his black beanie for a blue baseball hat with the home team's logo on it, and then handed Bitty a second one. "We have to fit in," Jack said with a smile. Bitty removed his beanie and stuffed it in the pocket of his coat before he placed the baseball hat on his head.

"Thanks. You're going to have to let me buy you a pretzel or something."

"Maybe some peanuts," said Jack. They filled in with the crowd and began toward the arena, which Bitty could see ahead. It had been a long time since he'd been to a professional game of any kind, much less a hockey game, and he'd forgotten how exhilarating it could be. Everyone around them carried their own excited energy, but none more than children, who jumped on their parents and screamed and laughed as they all ran toward an event that was probably a rarity for them. In the group ahead of Bitty and Jack there was a small child in a jersey with the name ST. MARTIN printed on the back of it holding a sign that said "It's my first game!" Bitty remembered his first football game with his father and how excited he had been to be there in person.

"What team is this?" Bitty asked when he and Jack stopped at the end of a security line.

Jack immediately made a face and Bitty had his answer on whether this was a team exclusive to this world. "Bittle," he said, and Bitty threw his hands up.

"I don't know every team!"

"Bittle, this is the Providence Falconers. They play a half hour away from Samwell."

"I don't know!" said Bitty, the tone of his voice rising as he grew more embarrassed for his lack of professional hockey knowledge. "I'm not from around here! I don't know what teams are what teams! Are they new?"

"Not new enough that you shouldn't know them," said Jack. "I'm taking you to their next game at home. They're a little different here, but you should at least know who they are."

Bitty frowned and remained silent as they shuffled forward a few times, getting closer to security. "Would you want to play for them?" he eventually asked Jack.

"Yeah, they're good," said Jack. "They are newer. They're an expansion team from 2005, when they added one to every division. They haven't been doing as well as the Aces or anything, but they're not bad, and it's actually within the realm of possibility for me. I've still got camps to go to this summer to suss out what my actual chances are next year, but my dad says the Falcs will have the best cap space going into my first season, so it's possible I could get a better contract there than somewhere like Pittsburgh or Tampa." Jack gestured to a man in a Tampa Bay Lightning jersey.

"Would you want to play all the way down in Florida?" Bitty asked.

"I just want to play," said Jack.

They passed through security without incident, although the ticket scanner gave Jack a long look before he allowed them to pass, and Bitty followed Jack to their seats, since Jack seemed to know where he was going. Jack led Bitty up two escalators, and Bitty was about to hop on the third to get to the next level when he realized Jack had stopped. Bitty followed Jack, who showed their tickets to a guard and they were let through.

"Okay now I really need to buy you a pretzel," said Bitty when Jack brought them to a private box and handed Bitty a pass rather than a ticket. "I should have known better, though. I should have known Jack Zimmermann watches his games from a private box rather than amongst the peons."

"Quiet, you," said Jack and he pushed Bitty into the box. They were near the center of the rink. The box itself was separate from the general walkway but it was not enclosed, so fans in the upper rows of the first level sat within earshot. Bitty plopped into the comfortable chair and put his feet up on the railing. "So you haven't really explained anything to me," he said once Jack sat next to him. "Is this your favorite place because you have access to these seats? Or is there an actual reason why you like this place more than the others?"

"The seats are a distinct advantage," said Jack, "but no, I have other reasons. Remember when I said I found two worlds where I could still play hockey after dropping out of the draft? This was the other. I had a whole plan developed for how I could stay here, but ultimately it got too complicated and I would have had to essentially change who I was as a person. I didn't want that, so I chose yours."

"I'm glad you did," said Bitty.

"Yeah? I figured you probably are at your limit of me."

"It's close, but no. I mean if you keep waking me up at six o'clock in the morning I might be at my limit, but..."

"Just you wait, Bittle," said Jack. He sat back in his chair and also put his feet up on the railing in front of them.

They'd arrived just in time, because as soon as Bitty and Jack settled into their seats, the teams had returned to the ice and got into position for the anthem. "Ladies and gentlemen, get up and get loud for the starting line of your Providence Falconers!"

Bitty let out a loud "Woo!" which made Jack smile, so he did it again and Jack laughed.

"In goal, number twenty-four, Dustin Snow. On defense, number seven, Alexei Mashkov and number nineteen, Guy Martin. In left wing, alternate captain Sebastian St. Martin. In right wing, number eighty-one John Fitzgerald. And in center, your captain Jack Zimmermann!"

The audience broke out into loud cheers but Bitty turned fully to Jack, his eyes wide and his mouth open. "Told you this is a good one," said Jack, and Bitty hit him hard on the arm.

"Jack! You are the worst! You didn't tell me you were the CAPTAIN!"

"Ow, ow! Bittle! Stop!"

Jack began laughing, which set Bitty off, and they started laughing together until the room quieted for the national anthem. Bitty kept nudging Jack through it, who failed at hiding his proud smile. Bitty leaned forward and watched the on-ice Jack as soon as the puck dropped, enthralled by the person in front of him.

"What day is this game?" Bitty asked, taking his eyes off Jack on the ice to Jack by his side.

"Just a few weeks ago. December 4th, I think."

"Wow, so you're in the NHL right now. You're the captain right now. How did that happen?"

Jack leaned forward and put his arms on the railing in front of him. Play resumed on the ice and Jack watched his other self as he took a faceoff and got off a shot on goal before his shift ended. Jack looked at Bitty when his other self left the ice. "It wasn't easy. This Jack still had an OD, but he went through with the draft and overdosed a few weeks later. I think that was always inevitable. When I was searching for a new home, I never found a place where it didn't happen sooner or later. Sometimes it just happened later. I remember I spent a lot of time looking for a place where I was normal, and it didn't happen. I think for it to be my life, it had to happen."

"You had to learn from it," said Bitty.

"I just wish there was a world out there where I didn't even need anxiety medication. Where I wasn't so fucked up that I just did what I needed to do and it was easy."

"But that's not you, Jack. You had that pressure put on you from day one. How is anyone supposed to react differently than you did?"

"There are other kids of players in the NHL today. None of them had an OD."

"Well none of them are captain of the Providence Falconers," said Bitty. Jack looked back to the ice, so Bitty did as well. The other Jack jumped back on the ice and forced a turnover in the neutral zone while both teams were finishing changes. He zoomed toward the goal, one arm out to hold off the defender from the Lightning who was on him, and then proceeded to wrist a shot that passed right under the goalie's glove and into the net.

"NICE!" Bitty yelled as the crowd around them exploded into cheers. He turned to Jack. "Did you see that? The way you just manhandled that d-man so he couldn't get at the puck?"

"I saw it," said Jack with a smile.

"You should do that more often. It was very effective," said Bitty.

Jack didn't reply and instead put his chin on his hands and looked back down at the ice. Bitty did the same. Less than a minute later, on the other Jack's next shift, he did almost the exact same play and scored in the same spot on net. Bitty smacked the Jack next to him, who laughed.

"Have you seen this game before?" Bitty asked. Jack nodded. "Did you bring me here on purpose? Are you just showing off?"

"It's not me! It's a completely different Jack Zimmermann," said Jack, but he was smiling all the same. The horn blared, signalling the end of the first period, and Bitty stood.

"I think you are showing off, Mr. Zimmermann, and I think you brought me here just because you want me to think that you're a great hockey player," said Bitty. "Spoiler alert, Jack. I already do."

"Thank you, Bittle," said Jack.

"I'm getting a pretzel. Do you want peanuts too?"

"Yes."

Bitty headed onto the concourse and found a concession stand that sold both pretzels and peanuts. While the press level was considerably less populated than the other two, there were still a fair amount of fans in jerseys wandering this concourse. As Bitty waited in line he counted no less than five Zimmermann jerseys and was surprised he hadn't spotted them earlier. It was weird to see them, knowing they represented a man that Bitty had gotten to know so well over the past few weeks. In this universe Jack had always played for the Falconers and Bitty realized here he would not have known Jack, at least not personally, and decided he liked his dimension better after all.

There were even more Zimmermann jerseys in the section below their box, Bitty realized after he returned to his seat. It was one of the most popular jerseys to own, which made sense since Jack was the captain. Bitty wondered how his Jack felt about all of this, if it was a goal to achieve or the sad reality of what could have been.

Less than five minutes into the second period, Jack scored his third goal of the game, a less beautiful but still effective chip-in from behind the goal line. As the horn blared and the fans jumped to their feet, Bitty leapt up again and pulled the hat off his head. The ice seemed a lot farther than he could throw, but he and Jack threw their hats anyway, laughing when they only made it as far as the middle of the section.

"Yeah, you definitely brought me here to show off," said Bitty, and Jack just smugly shrugged as they sat back down, the excitement of the hat trick over. Bitty looked back to the ice, wondering if Jack was going to be so on fire that he'd score a fourth goal, but as he did he noticed some of the fans in the seats closest to the box begin to stare. He looked at Jack — without the hat, there was no hiding his distinct face, and from his black hair to his sharp jawline and his blue eyes, there was nothing Jack could do to disguise his similarity to the man on the ice.

"Jack," Bitty whispered, which caught Jack's immediate attention. "I think we need to go. People are starting to look at you."

Jack followed Bitty's gaze to a man wearing a Zimmermann jersey and staring blatantly at Jack. "Yeah," said Jack. He quickly stood and Bitty stood with him. They walked out of the box and into the nearly-empty concourse, where Jack took hold of Bitty's arm and Bitty pulled them back home. They were back on the bridge near Bitty's dorm. Bitty put his beanie back on and zipped up his jacket; it had gotten significantly colder now that they had been gone for several hours. Jack stopped in front of the dorm.

"Thanks for showing me your place," said Jack. "It was peaceful."

"Thanks for showing me yours," said Bitty. "Next time you don't have to flex so hard."

Jack laughed, which made Bitty smile. Bitty said goodbye and headed up the sidewalk to his dorm. Jack waited on the sidewalk until Bitty entered. Bitty waved over his shoulder before he entered the lobby of his dorm, and then once out of sight, he stopped and took a breath, the sound of Jack's laugh echoing in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Bitty mostly travel to places we've already seen, but Jack's favorite dimension takes place in the world of [Eric Bittle, NBC 10](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16615991/chapters/38948216) \- although I had to take some creative license here as Poots would not have been on the team at this time and I have no idea what Guy's last name is.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Meditation was not easy, but Bitty had promised Jack he would try, so every day for the next week, Bitty took twenty minutes before practice and attempted to stay present. It didn't get any easier in those seven days, but it felt easier to focus on the ice the next time he scrimmaged with the team. The rest of the team continued to avoid him, and he continued to avoid them, but he felt less afraid during line rushes.

Spring semester brought the return of Larissa Duan, the team manager who Bitty recognized immediately upon sight, although she did not know him. She was the person that the other Bitty had hugged before the proposal, which meant in at least one other dimension, they were friends. It only took one practice for Bitty to decide that they needed to be friends in every dimension.

"You get along with the boys really well," Lardo said, because for some reason she preferred to be called Lardo instead of Larissa. "More so than the others."

Practice was over, but a few of the guys were still out with Johnson and their backup goalie. Bitty sat on the bench with Lardo, watching the activity dwindle down. "Ransom and Holster decided they needed to adopt me," Bitty explained. "And Jack has made a personal goal to get me to work on my physicality."

Bitty nodded toward Jack, who was watching the sophomore forwards who were working on shots. Jack hadn't touched a puck in ten minutes but had plenty of comments. 

Lardo laughed. Her laugh was nearly a cackle, and it made Bitty smile how such a wonderful sound could come out of such a small person — which may have been another reason why he was so eager to get to know her, because she was the only member of the team smaller than he was. "Of course Jack would," she said. "Anything to make us better. I wouldn't be surprised if he made a personal goal to get every member of the team to work on their physicality. I think you looked good out there, though. You're on a line with Wicky and Shits, right?"

"Yeah, most of the time," said Bitty.

"Hmm," said Lardo, and she quickly excused herself, although before she left the bench, she said, "You like coffee?"

"Yeah!"

"You want Annie's?"

"Yes, absolutely." 

"'Swawesome. I'll meet you outside," she said and then she trotted down the rampway.

Annie's Coffee and Books was the go-to on campus coffee shop, but not necessarily the go-to bookstore. The coffee was decently priced but Bitty once attempted to buy a set of flashcards until he realized they were ten dollars. Annie's location might have made it convenient for emergency purchases but the Stop & Shop sold the same flashcards without the four hundred percent markup. It was cozy, however, and a popular study spot, which was why Bitty and Lardo were excited to find an empty couch near the window. Despite her small frame, Lardo managed to take up half of it. Bitty, who was not that much bigger than her, took up the rest of it. Their feet touched as they settled in, and Bitty was surprised just how comfortable and easy it was to co-mingle on a couch in a public space. Perhaps it was the knowledge that another version of himself considered Lardo to be a dear friend, or perhaps it was that Lardo, in the matter of a few hours, made Bitty feel as if he'd known her forever.

"So what's your deal? Hall and Murray said you're a figure skater," Lardo asked, her hands cradled around a steaming mug of mocha with extra espresso. She hadn't removed her purple beanie, which rode low on her forehead and hid most of her hair, although it drew attention to her eyes.

Bitty took a long sip of his coffee, which tasted mostly like sugar. "I was one of a million wannabe figure skaters. When I was fifteen I won regionals but after regionals is sectionals, and I realized very quickly there that I was nothing special and no matter how hard I worked, I wasn't going to make it to nationals at the junior level, much less be able to compete at the senior level. Once I realized that, it wasn't fun anymore, so I joined the only hockey club in my town. It was a lot more fun than figure skating ever was. It's nothing like it is here, though. Madison Hockey Club had a strict no-checking policy."

"Ransom and Holster mentioned their strict no-checking policy on you."

"Really? Do Hall and Murray know? Does Jack know? Jack's going to flip a shit if he hears —"

"Nah, bro, it's chill," said Lardo with a casual shrug of her shoulders, which calmed the sudden alarm bells that were ringing in Bitty's brain. "It sounds like you and Jack are working on it."

"He's trying," said Bitty. He took another sip of his coffee and looked out the window; the first thought that came to his mind was Jack's early-morning eagerness, and the look on his face as he would try to catch Bitty on the ice. It'd been weeks since Jack had been able to catch him when he didn't want to be caught, which frequently led to a scowl that resembled the expression Jack had permanently etched onto his face during conditioning. "I sometimes think he tries a little too hard."

Lardo let out a laugh. "Jack's a good dude, Bits, even if he lets his tenacity get the better of him."

Bitty continued to look out the window. He might not have been meditating at the moment, but he recognized the thought train that quickly carried him away from Lardo, the couch, and Annie's. Jack Zimmermann may have been a dedicated hockey player and a committed captain, but he also laughed gleefully at the magic of color changing flowers in an endless field. The Jack that Bitty had watched just earlier that morning, giving advice on shot strategy to the sophomore forwards, was so different than the boy in the field. The Jack that woke Bitty at four o'clock in the morning and demanded he come to Faber was not the Jack who bounced down the stairs of his Montreal home and stole extra meatballs out of his mother's bowl of soup. Bitty wondered which Jack Lardo knew.

Lardo shifted and Bitty looked back over at her. With her beanie hiding most of her head, he focused right in on her eyes, which were carrying smug satisfaction. "What?" Bitty asked.

"Nothing," she said.

Bitty raised an eyebrow and Lardo smirked before she sipped her coffee again.

Lardo's odd look in Annie's made sense on Friday when Coach Hall began reading off the lines for the first game of the semester. Bitty was still lacing up his skate when Hall said, "Einhardt, Zimmermann, and Bittle."

Bitty looked up, surprised, and glanced over at Jack. Jack reached over the empty stall that separated their seats and smacked Bitty on the arm. "Look at you," he said.

Coach Hall finished reading the lines and Bitty stood up. "Um, Coach?" he asked and he approached Hall, who even after half a season, Bitty still found intimidating. "Are you sure you read that right? Me on Jack's line?"

"Of course," said Hall. "Your speed makes sense on the right wing, and we've seen the way you and Jack work together in practice. You're a better player when you're with Jack, and so is he."

Bitty turned back to Jack, who offered him a smile, and Bitty forced his eyebrows to return back to their normal position as he thanked his coaches and returned to his stall. Jack leaned in again. "It'll work, Bitty," he said, and Bitty just nodded, because now that his eyebrows were back in their normal position, he had no way of moving them again. He didn't know how he was going to start a game with immovable eyebrows. He didn't quite have the situation under control before he received a tap from Ransom, Holster, and Shitty as well, and he only smiled at them before Coach Murray said, "Okay, let's go!"

"Line up with me," said Jack when everyone on the team stood and began heading out toward the ice, led by Johnson. Bitty usually settled in front of Ransom and behind Wicky, but Jack held him back and then positioned Bitty behind Einhardt and in front of Jack, who always went last.

"If I get hurt because you moved my spot in line, I'm seriously going to be mad," said Bitty.

"On the contrary, if you get a point because I moved your spot in line..."

"You better be right, Mr. Zimmermann," said Bitty as he turned around. Einhardt was already moving, so Bitty hurried and followed him toward the ice. They passed by Lardo on the way, who gave Bitty a thumbs up. He would have to thank her later, but only if he didn't screw up his first start.

He did not screw up his first start. He might not have gotten a goal himself, but throughout his twenty minutes of ice time, he set Jack up for two goals, one being the game winner. Having Jack on the other side of him just made sense — Jack was always there when Bitty expected it. Maybe it had something to do with very recently seeing a version of Jack who could excel in the NHL, maybe it had something to do with being on the ice at the same time as Jack, but Jack played a great game, and that level of performance continued throughout January and into February.

While their games went well, and Samwell won six straight in the month of February, Bitty still couldn't prevent himself from leaping when Jack hit him in during morning checking clinics in Faber. Jack had just hit Bitty into the field dimension again, and the two of them lay in the grass among the flowers, still in their gear. Jack propped himself up on his elbows and changed the color of a nearby daisy over and over again.

"It's not like it's bad anymore," said Bitty as he watched the petals of the daisy turn from red to yellow to blue as Jack tapped on it. "I mean last semester it sucked so much because I thought I was going crazy. At least here I leap, I realize I've leapt, and I come back. I'm never going far enough to really get hurt."

"Maybe," said Jack, and he dropped onto the ground, leaving the flower a bright chartreuse. "But what're you going to do if you leap into outer space and freeze to death? Or if you go back to that one Faber where the zombies almost killed us?"

"I don't think I'm gone long enough for that to happen. I recognize it right away and my tether'll snap me back. It's not like today when you saw that we ended up here and decided to plop on the ground rather than let me take you home."

"I still want to work on it," said Jack. "Are you meditating?"

"I'm trying to," said Bitty, and Jack groaned.

"I bet you're not," he said.

"If you keep talking like this, Mr. Zimmermann, I'm going to snap myself back home and you can find your own way back to me."

Bitty sat up but Jack grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back down. "No, stay for a minute," he said.

Bitty stared up at the blue, cloudless sky and let himself get lost inside of it. Without even the sun to disturb it, the color was endless, almost like a sea of nothing that threatened to consume him. It would have been pleasant, however, because everything in the field dimension was pleasant, and the longer they stayed here, the longer he realized he never wanted to leave.

"Do you want coffee?" Jack asked after Bitty drifted in the sky for several minutes.

"Do _you_ want coffee?" Bitty asked.

Jack sat up, disturbing the expanse of blue with the upper half of his body. When he turned and looked back at Bitty, Bitty realized how similar the color of his eyes were to the sky here. "Yeah," said Jack.

"Grab me, I'll take us home and we can go to Annie's," said Bitty.

"You have no imagination, Bittle," said Jack, and he pulled open the fabric of reality instead.

"Where are you taking us? We're in our skates."

Jack did not seem to care that they were in their skates. He picked a location and then grabbed hold of Bitty before he pulled the portal up and over them. They stood up in a different place. Bitty wondered how far exactly Jack sent them, because the pain in his chest felt significant, to the point where he pulled his gear away from his skin to peer down at a potential split. His chest was red and agitated, but the distance was not so great that there was blood. Jack checked his chin but he also was not bleeding.

Bitty was about to ask where Jack had taken them when he spotted the structure across the street. Unless there was another monument like this one in the dimension Jack had chosen, Jack brought them to Rome, and they were across the street from the Colosseum.

"Jack," said Bitty. "We're in Italy."

"Yeah."

"Remember when you took me to that game? And I told you that you didn't have to flex so hard?"

"Remember when you suggested we go to Annie's when we're perfectly capable of getting real Italian coffee?"

"I cannot with you, Mr. Zimmermann," said Bitty, and he followed Jack into a small cafe, where they received several odd looks due to their ice skates and full hockey gear. No one said anything, however, and they accepted their orders and Jack's payment. They sat outside so they could look at the Colosseum.

"How is it?" Jack asked after Bitty took the first sip.

"Needs sugar," said Bitty, and Jack laughed. Bitty smiled.

***

The first time Bitty was checked in a game, it turned out not to be a big deal. It was March and the final game of the regular season. Samwell had officially made regional playoffs, so this result didn't technically matter. The team they played against had something to play for, so nothing was going to be easy, and Bitty found that out early into his first shift. He had the puck and Jack was open, and while his goal was to get the puck to Jack as soon as possible, he found himself hit face-first into the boards by a Harvard kid.

He opened his eyes and he was in the Harvard rink, but no one else was there. He felt his tether around his waist and let it pull him back. It did and he was back in an instant, right where he had been before he left, and his face shield hit the glass.

"Ugh," he said as he connected hard with the glass. The Harvard player let go and Bitty fell over. The shaking and terror that he used to experience with this sort of hit was not present, so he carefully got himself back up and rejoined the play, which was headed in the opposite direction.

Coach Murray was waving at him, so he jumped off the ice and over the railing back to the bench, followed shortly by Jack, and then by Einhardt. "You okay, Bittle?" Coach Murray asked when Bitty sat down. Bitty looked up and Jack seemed to be silently asking the same question.

"Yeah," he said with a nod. He removed the strap from his face shield so he could take a drink of water. He handed the bottle to Jack, who lingered too long on his hand. "I'm fine," he said to Jack, who looked at him with apprehension before he took his own sip.

They lost the game to Harvard, which was disappointing but ultimately did not affect their playoff position. After sixty minutes of getting smashed into the boards, their team could use the rest on the bus ride home. Bitty could feel the result of the game working through his muscles and was grateful they didn't have to play again that weekend, because he was going to be sore in the morning. He found a spot at the back of the bus, hoping to take a nap on the way back, but right after he sat down, Lardo sat next to him.

"Yo," she said. "Rough game."

"Yeah, but it's over," said Bitty.

"You know what makes me feel better after a game like that?" she asked. Bitty shook his head. She pulled up a photo on her phone and showed it to him. "Boom. Baby duck."

Bitty couldn't help the smile on his face as he looked at the photo of a small, fuzzy yellow duck looking up into the sunshine from its spot on the water. "That help?" Lardo asked.

"Yeah, that helps," said Bitty.

"You know what else helps?" she asked. "Kegster. Let's get absolutely shitfaced tonight. Do you play beer pong?"

"Do NOT play beer pong with Lardo," said Jack as he took a seat in the row opposite them. "Lardo. You know my policy about you challenging the frogs to drinking games."

"They have to learn their place, Zimmermann," said Lardo.

"How about I watch you play?" Bitty asked. "Jack? You in?"

"Nah. You have your fun," said Jack as he grabbed a pair of headphones from his bag. He paused and looked over. "Let me know if you're making pie, though."

"Okay, you have to explain the pie to me," said Lardo, which was how she and Bitty ended up in the Haus kitchen making three berry pies while Ransom and Holster were put on beer duty. Lardo mostly watched as Bitty filled the three shells with the berry filling they'd made on the stove. "So it's just pie?"

"Were you expecting something different?"

"Well you know how you can make brownies, you know, special?"

"Oh," said Bitty. "No, these are just pie. I suppose if you wanted to make them special you could, although I can't vouch for how well they would taste."

Lardo opted to modify one of the three pies, which Bitty laced differently than the other two. As the pies baked in the oven, Lardo challenged Bitty to a shotgun race, which she easily won. "You gotta work on your shotguns, Bits," said Lardo when she crushed her can in her hand and Bitty had almost half a beer to go.

"How are you even real?" Bitty asked when Lardo emitted the loudest belch he'd ever heard and then proceeded to look up baby animals again on her phone.

"Don't fall in love with me, bro," said Lardo.

"No worries there; I'm gay."

"'Swawesome," said Lardo and she held out her fist for a bump.

Ransom and Holster returned before the pies came out of the oven, which resulted in everyone present doing a kegster before the oven timer went off. Bitty removed the pies and listened to Shitty bicker with Ollie in the living room about music before Shitty yelled, "You are a frog! I choose the music! Get the fuck away from the speaker!"

Lardo cut a slice of the tainted pie and left the room with it. Bitty began cutting into the other two as he heard, "Shits, you need to chill. Share this pie with me." The pie was still quite warm but Bitty still put a slice on a plate and headed to the stairs as the first non-hockey party guests arrived. Shitty cranked up the music, a line formed at the keg, and the few members of the team who were familiar enough with Bitty began to search the kitchen for baked goods.

Bitty ran into Wicky at the stairs as Wicky wrapped yellow police tape between the banisters to block the way. "Careful, Bitty," said Wicky. Bitty maneuvered between the tape while balancing the pie on a plate and then trotted up to Jack's room. The music did not carry so loudly up here, but there it was still quite audible, so Bitty knocked hard.

"Jack?" he asked. 

Jack did not immediately respond and Bitty realized it was very possible Jack could have told the others he was going up to his room but instead skipped away. Bitty knocked again and received no response. He didn't want the pie to get cold, so he tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. He opened the door and headed inside, and then quickly said, "Oh, I'm sorry!" when he saw Jack sitting cross-legged on the floor, his eyes closed.

Jack opened his eyes and looked up. "Oh, it's you," he said. "Sorry, I thought it was one of the guys trying to convince me to come downstairs again."

"No, I just wanted to make sure you got a slice of pie before it was all gone," said Bitty.

Jack smiled and shifted to get off the floor, but Bitty quickly stepped forward and handed him the plate before he could do so. "Don't get up on my account. Do you want to be left alone? I can go back downstairs."

"No, you're fine. Just close the door."

Bitty closed the door, which muted most of the sound, before he stepped farther inside. He'd never been in Jack's room before, which was surprising as he had been in Jack's childhood bedroom in Montreal. It carried the same theme as that bedroom, which was to say that it contained a lot of hockey elements, but Bitty's eyes landed on one sign in particular that read _Be Better_ , and it made him frown. Jack must have posted it for encouragement, but it did not feel very encouraging to Bitty.

"This is good," said Jack. Bitty looked over and he'd engulfed half the slice already. When it came to these hockey boys, that was not uncommon, so Bitty accepted the compliment before he sat at Jack's desk chair and looked at the clutter Jack had left there. His computer was open but the screen was off. He had a lamp and a clock, but apart from that, he had four pucks, three homework assignments (he'd gotten an A on all of them, which made Bitty jealous), and at least a dozen notecards with cities listed on one side.

"Come sit with me," said Jack. He got to his knees and dropped the empty plate onto his desk, but then patted the hardwood floor in front of him. Bitty sat, facing Jack, and Jack closed his eyes again. "When was the last time you meditated?" Jack asked.

Bitty straightened his posture and closed his eyes. "It's been a while," Bitty said.

"So the last time I made you?" Jack asked, and Bitty could hear the humor in his voice.

"No!" Bitty replied much too quickly, and he was rewarded with a low chuckle. "Maybe."

"Stay with me for a little bit."

Bitty took in a long breath and turned his focus to nothing, but as usual his thoughts overwhelmed him. He did as he had been instructed and attempted to let them float by, from his desire to figure out what song was playing, to wondering how much pie was left, to realizing that he was a little drunk. He was able to let everything drift in and then drift out until he thought about Jack sitting in front of him, and he jumped on a train as he asked, "How come you never join the parties downstairs?"

Jack did not respond, which made Bitty open his eyes. Jack was looking back at him. They were very close together, sitting on the floor of Jack's bedroom, but it wasn't until that moment that Bitty felt like he was intruding. Jack's face had been expressionless, but as Bitty stared at him, he realized that Jack looked a little embarrassed.

"I didn't just OD because of my anxiety meds. I mean I did, I definitely did, but that whole season I was abusing more than just my medication. It's easy to drink in college, but it was even easier in juniors. I'll still have a beer now and then, but parties like these remind me of those days when I would drink too much and then have to take a pill or two to calm myself down once the alcohol wore off."

"I'm sorry I brought it up," said Bitty, his voice a low whisper. 

Jack closed his eyes so Bitty did the same. "It's fine. You didn't know."

They settled back into the quiet meditation, and this time Bitty did not allow any trains to take him away from the blank space he attempted to create in his mind. Despite his frustration with meditation as a whole, it was getting easier to ignore the thoughts that came, and as time went on, he forgot the music downstairs and focused on his body as it sat there on the floor, his legs crossed, his hands on his knees, his breath calm and even. He felt comfortable there, which was why he was so surprised when Jack suddenly tackled him.

"WHOA!" Bitty yelled, his eyes flying open. Jack was on top of him, pinning him to the floor. Although he was pushed backward onto a hard surface with nothing to cushion his fall, it didn't hurt.

Jack stared at him. Their faces were very close, and Bitty couldn't help it when his eyes flickered down to Jack's lips, just for a second, and he hopped right onto the thought train that wondered if they were as soft as they looked.

"You didn't skip," Jack said.

"No," said Bitty.

Jack sat up and removed his hands from Bitty's shirt. "Still think it's a waste of time?"

"Oh, absolutely, Mr. Zimmermann," said Bitty, just so he could see the look on Jack's face when he said it. Jack hit him and Bitty laughed.

***

Regional playoff hockey was much more intense than the regular season. Bitty spent the first fifty-seven minutes of their first game in a kind of fear he had not felt for months. While the Harvard game and the continued early morning practices with Jack had eliminated most of his apprehension, these boys were out for blood. Bitty was hyper aware of everyone in yellow during his shifts, which made it difficult to focus on his own play. It didn't help when a defender the size of a goon knocked the breath out of Holster in the second period.

It was almost the end of regulation and the game was tied. Bitty had played his share of overtime hockey in the past, but he did not want to experience overtime in the playoffs. He did not want to get the wind knocked out of him. He did not want to lose their shot at the Frozen Four. As the referee lined up at the faceoff dot in the offensive zone, Jack skated over to Bitty.

"If you get the puck, wheel around back door and send it to me between the dots. You can get past that d-man."

Bitty looked at the defender who'd hit Holster and swallowed hard. "I got your back," Jack whispered before he headed to the dot to take the faceoff.

Jack won the faceoff and passed to Bitty, who felt the puck hit his tape. He darted toward the goal and headed toward the back of it. Jack was open, just like he'd said, so Bitty passed back to him and saw out of the corner of his eye the goonish defender. Bitty could feel his body tense in anticipation of the hit, but there was no stopping the momentum of this player, not at his speed, not at the angle of his body. This wasn't just going to be a check into the boards. This was going to be a check that lifted Bitty off his feet and sent him flying, and that was not the type of check he and Jack practiced.

He felt something loosen as he was hit in the hip by the full force of the defender's body. When he looked down, he realized it was his helmet, and it had fallen right off his head. Bitty was staring at the impending collision between his face and the ice, and knew he did not have enough time to open the fabric of realities, search for another dimension, and pull out a portal to a place that would not hurt as much. Instead he closed his eyes and hoped that his panic would leap him somewhere better so he wouldn't end up with a concussion.

His chest seared but he didn't open his eyes, afraid of where he would land. He hit the ground with an "Oof!" but the expected pain did not come. He opened his eyes and realized he'd landed directly onto a gym mat. He was not in the acrobatics dimension with the floor-to-ceiling painting, but instead on a mat that had been placed in the aisle of a grocery store.

"Huh," he said. His helmet was gone but he still had his stick in his hand. The missing helmet would be difficult to explain when he got back, but he hoped he wasn't gone long enough for it to matter. He sat on his ankles and let his tether pull him back, but when he let go of his control, nothing happened. He was still on his knees in the grocery store. He attempted to let go again, but once again nothing happened. He placed his hands on his waist to grab hold of his tether, wondering why it wasn't working, when his hands took hold of his jersey and nothing else.

"Oh no," he said, looking for the invisible rope that had held tight around his waist every time he left home. He couldn't see it, as expected, but he couldn't feel it either, and all signs pointed to the fact that it wasn't there. "Oh no, please, where are you…"

"Can I help you with something?" 

Bitty looked over his shoulder. A young woman in uniform stood at the end of the aisle, staring strangely at Bitty. He knew he was out of place, wearing full hockey gear and holding his stick. He looked up and realized that he was kneeling in front of a shelf of tampons, which made even less sense for him to be there.

"Um, no, I'm okay," said Bitty and he laughed nervously.

"Okay. Let me know if I can help," she said and backed out of the aisle. Bitty turned away and quickly opened the shelf of realities to go somewhere else, somewhere without confused employees that could see him in his full gear in a place where that did not make any sense. He pulled out the first dimension he could see and found a remote area near Samwell and jumped there, his chest hurting again. He landed in a forest, away from the public eye, and took the moment there to begin to worry. His tether was gone, and according to his father, that was the only way to get home.

He didn't have time to figure out how it fell off, or worry that it had fallen off. Every moment he was away from home was a moment that his team would realize he was gone. His father had to have been wrong, so he opened up the shelf again, grabbed another dimension, and leapt into it. It wasn't home, so he tried again, and again, and again. On the fifth leap, Bitty felt his skin tear open, but he still wasn't home. He tried the next one, and then the next, and then kept going until he couldn't take it anymore. His chest was bleeding freely; the rip felt so deep he could feel it in his bones. He kept trying, pushing through the pain, until he landed on the shore of the Samwell Pond in an unfamiliar place and fell onto his back on the beach. He stared at the sky. Every breath felt like fire. His chest protector was sticky and warm. He could see the crimson stain on his jersey. He closed his eyes and hoped that when he opened them again, he would finally be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The store that Bitty falls into is part of the [Please Refrain From Kissing In Aisle 5](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11862180) universe.


	13. Chapter Twelve

When Bitty opened his eyes, he was not home. Instead he was lying in an unfamiliar room with white panels on the ceiling. He attempted to move but the pain that flared in his chest prevented him from going anywhere. He groaned at the feel of it; his chest had hurt plenty of times in the past year, but it had never been this bad before. It throbbed with every breath, but when he attempted to alter his inhale, it hurt even worse. Tears sprung into his eyes and a loud, insistent beeping drew his attention to a monitor next to his bed.

"Shh, Bitty, calm down," said a familiar voice to his left.

"Jack?" Bitty asked. He didn't want to move so he couldn't see anything apart from the edge of the monitor and the ceiling tiles. Jack stood and brought himself into Bitty's range of vision. This was his Jack, it had to be, because he had stitches underneath his chin.

"Hey," said Jack with a poor attempt at a pleasant smile. Bitty could see the worry on his face. "You're okay. You're in the hospital."

"The hospital?" Bitty asked, but in his panic his chest exploded with pain. "Oh my God, Jack, it hurts so much."

"It's okay, calm down. I'll call the nurse. They said you might need pain meds when you wake up." Jack grabbed something from the side of Bitty's bed and then looked back at him. "Okay, they'll be here in a moment. We're in the Samwell Research Hospital, the one right off campus."

"The one at home?" Bitty asked.

Jack placed a hand on Bitty's head and his fingers gently brushed back Bitty's hair; the touch was delicate and soothing, but still tears fell from Bitty's eyes as he realized why he needed to be soothed. "No," Jack said, his voice barely a whisper. "We're not at home."

The door opened. Jack retracted his hand and Bitty turned his head, which made his chest burn. He groaned and the nurse said, "Ooh, sounds like someone's awake. I'll get some dilaudid in a minute." The nurse approached the bed and Bitty caught a glimpse of him for the first time. He was young but looked kind and he gave Bitty a reassuring smile. "Where would you say your pain is at right now, Eric? From one to ten."

"A million," said Bitty, and the nurse nodded.

"Okay, a million it is. I promise I'll get it quick for you, but I just need you to stay calm and let me look at a few things."

A few things turned out to be vitals, which made Bitty groan in pain every time a part of his body moved. The nurse was quick about it. When he left, Bitty looked back at Jack, and then his eyes landed on the stitches under Jack's chin. 

Jack noticed him looking and smiled. "It's nothing," he said.

"Doesn't look like nothing."

"It took a while to find you. I had to look a lot of places. It's not nearly as bad as yours." Jack's eyes drifted downward, but Bitty couldn't even attempt to look. He knew it was bad, though, from the expression on Jack's face.

"How did you find me?"

"I knew something was wrong when you didn't come back right away. You always come back right away. Unless I go with you, I can never even tell that you're gone, but I got the goal and I looked to celly with you, but you weren't there. The game ended and you still weren't back. I skipped right away and popped back in a few hours later, but you were still gone. I went home and told my dad, and then we told your dad, and the three of us have been looking for you ever since."

"How long has it been? I was only gone a few minutes, or at least I think it was just a few minutes. I can't tell."

"I think you passed out a long time before I found you. You were… there was a lot of blood," said Jack, and his eyes drifted up to something near the monitor. Bitty attempted to look but he couldn't see that far, but from the general direction of it and the color of the tube that entered his arm, Bitty could tell it was blood. "What happened?" Jack asked. "Why didn't you come home right away?"

"I lost my tether," Bitty said.

"How?"

Bitty opened his mouth to explain, although he didn't have a real explanation, when the door opened and the nurse returned. He and Jack remained silent as the nurse administered the pain medication directly into Bitty's IV. "This is going to make you sleepy, but with a wound like that, you're going to want to get as much rest as you can while your body takes care of itself. Now that you're awake the doctor will come in and give you an update. You should rest until then. Your boyfriend can probably get some lunch," said the nurse as he looked over at Jack. "He's not going anywhere, hun."

Bitty opened his mouth again to refute the claim of Jack as his boyfriend, but Jack just nodded. "I've got to call his dad anyway, but I'm going to wait until he falls asleep."

"Don't keep him up."

Once the pain mediation was in, Bitty's chest began to feel better, although with the relief of pain came sleepiness as well. He struggled to keep his eyes open as the nurse left the room. Jack stepped up to the bed. "I had to say you were my boyfriend," he explained quietly. "They kept insisting that they needed to contact your parents and I didn't want to worry the wrong people, so I said you were my boyfriend and I could call your dad for you."

"Oh," said Bitty. "Where's the other me? Isn't the school going to find out I'm here?"

"I'll take care of it," said Jack. "You just rest. I've got to tell our fathers that I found you so they can stop searching. I'll be back when you wake up, okay?"

"Okay," said Bitty. Jack turned to leave but Bitty reached out for him. "Jack." Jack turned back and placed his hand on Bitty's shoulder. The weight was soothing. "Thank you for finding me."

"Of course," said Jack, and he raised his hand to cup Bitty's face, his thumb on Bitty's cheek. "Whatever happened with your tether, we'll figure it out. Don't worry. Wherever you go, I will find you." Jack gently brushed Bitty's cheek with his thumb before looked down and he added, as if to himself, "I will always find you."

Bitty felt his eyes fill up with tears and he nodded. Jack offered him a small smile and that was it; Bitty closed his eyes and fell asleep.

***

"Dad?"

Coach had been sitting with his elbows on his knees, staring at the ground in what looked like prayer when Bitty opened his eyes again. Unlike Jack, Bitty couldn't see any resulting damage of the search for him, but he still knew it was there, and it made him feel guilty all the same. Coach looked a thousand years old in that chair, like he'd been looking for so long he'd neglected any basics of self-care. At the sound of Bitty's voice he startled and looked up.

"Junior, you're awake," he said, and while he scooted his chair closer, he didn't make any attempt to physically touch Bitty. "How are you feeling? Do you want me to call the nurse? I think you can have another dose at five-thirty, and it's just a little bit past."

It was clear from the moment Bitty opened his eyes that he was only awake because the medication was wearing off, but the pain was not so bad that it was all he could feel. He shook his head, which was the most movement he'd been able to do since he collapsed on the shore of the Pond. "No, I'm okay for a bit."

"I'm going to call her anyway; you're going to regret letting it out of your system," said Coach and he quickly pressed the nurse's button on the remote connected to Bitty's bed. Bitty looked around the room now that he had the strength and focus to do so. It was exactly as he expected from a hospital room, small but clean with a television, a cupboard for personal belongings, and a large whiteboard explaining where he was and who was taking care of him. There must have been a shift change since the last time he was awake.

The chair next to the bed did not look comfortable. There was an armchair in the opposite corner of the room, but it was farther away from the bed than the chair Coach occupied. Coach was the only person in the room, which made Bitty's eyebrows furrow. "Where's Jack?"

"Jack looked dead on his feet when he met Bob and I at the rendezvous point earlier today. He insisted on coming back here to see you but Bob was able to convince him to at least take a nap and get something to eat. I don't know how long he's been looking, but when you're skipping around like that it's easy to lose track of time and forget to take care of yourself."

"Did he tell you about my tether?" Bitty asked.

"Yes. I don't know how you could have possibly lost it, but that's not important right now. Right now you just need to get better so I can take you home. We'll figure out how to retether you there."

"When can I go home?"

The door opened and a new nurse walked in. She must have overheard the question because she gave Bitty a smile and said, "Once the doctor's sure that you're healing properly and there's no risk of infection. You'll stay here tonight and we'll reevaluate tomorrow. If the pain's manageable and you don't have a fever, we'll discuss your options."

"Okay," said Bitty, and while more than anything he just wanted to be home and in his bed, the pain medication she gave him felt very nice and he knew he wouldn't have access to it once he left. When she left the room, Bitty began to feel drowsy again, but fought it as he turned back to his father. "How long has it been since I left?"

"About a week," said Coach.

"Really? How long have I been in the hospital?"

"Jack brought you here last night. I don't know how long it was between when you arrived and when he found you, but unfortunately this dimension moves a lot slower than home." Coach gestured to the analog clock on the wall above the whiteboard, and then pulled out Bitty's pocket watch. Bitty tried to calculate how much of a difference the time was, but the hands on his watch moved so quickly, and it was already difficult to focus.

"Oh no, I'm missing so much," said Bitty. "Is it time for the Frozen Four yet? Did we make the Frozen Four? Jack said he scored but I don't know for sure if we won the game —"

"Don't worry about that," said Coach. "If you've lost your tether you're going to need one of us to take you back, and we should be able to drop you off at the time that you left so you won't miss anything. You've got a cracked sternum though, son, so your hockey days are over."

"It'll heal. I can still play next season."

"Is that a good idea?" Coach asked, earning a frown from Bitty. "It's going to be even more difficult now that you're not tethered to that world. If you get hit so hard you get pushed into another dimension, how are you going to get back? It's probably best if you just give it up altogether. We can figure out tuition without your scholarship —"

"I still want to play, Dad," said Bitty.

Coach frowned and Bitty waited for him to begin an argument, but instead Coach shook his head and said, "We'll discuss it later. I didn't talk to your friend Jack about the result of the game, but even if y'all did make it through, you're in no shape to finish this season. We'll discuss next year when you're healed up and back home."

"Still want to play," muttered Bitty. Coach opened his mouth but shut it just as quickly. "Are you going to tell Mom about this? She's going to want to know how I broke my sternum."

Coach winced for just a moment, and if Bitty hadn't been looking directly at him when it happened, he would not have noticed. "I explained everything to your mother," Coach said after a long pause. "She is very upset, and deservedly so. She asked for some time to think about everything, so after I take you home, I'll leap to the end of the school year and see what she says about all of this."

"Did you tell her about the other you?" Bitty asked, and Coach nodded. "I think she'll come around. Another you or not, you've been married to her for more than twenty years."

"I've lied to her for more than twenty years, or at least that's how she put it," said Coach. "I'll give her the time she wants, but if you want to nudge her along… I think I'll need all the help I can get on this one."

"I'll see what I can do," said Bitty. "Is she mad at me too?"

"No, Junior, she's not. She's more concerned about you than anything else. Jack showed up out of nowhere in his full uniform to explain that you were missing. He was beside himself. It took me an hour just to calm him down enough to develop a plan on how to find you. That boy knows your habits pretty well. Do you leap a lot with him?"

"He's been trying to help me not leap when I get hit, but it hasn't been going very well. We've been trying all year."

"Yeah?" Coach asked, his eyebrows raised.

"He's my captain, Dad, and the only other leaper I've ever met apart from you. He knows how dangerous it can be, so he wants to make sure I only do it under my control. He's been a good friend."

"Has he?" Coach asked, his eyebrows still raised. "Seems a little bit more than that to me, to be honest. None of my friends worry like that about me."

"None of your friends know you can leap inter-dimensionally," said Bitty. His father continued to give him the same look, like he knew there was something more than Bitty was offering. Bitty sighed; his chest still hurt a little and he was very tired. "He is just my friend, Dad… but I don't know. We could be something more than that someday. It's not outside the realm of possibility. I'm gay, so…"

Coach took Bitty's hand for the first time and Bitty looked down at it for a long while, fighting against the swell of emotions in his eyes, before he nodded once and looked at Coach. Coach offered him a gruff sort of smile which was difficult to see under his mustache. "Okay," said Coach.

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Although to be fair, his father is Bad Bob Zimmermann, so I don't think it's outside the realm of possibility for me either."

"Oh my God, Dad!" Bitty yelled and yanked his hand away. Coach laughed and Bitty tried not to, because it hurt. "I had to worry about Mom hitting on Bob when she met him, and now I have to worry about you? Please do not make a scene if Jack brings him here."

Coach chuckled and patted Bitty's arm. "Go to sleep, son. I'll be here when you wake up."

"Thanks, Dad," said Bitty, and he closed his eyes again.

***

Bitty was allowed to leave the hospital after two nights, once he was cleared from infection and his pain was manageable. When the discharge orders were given, Jack and Bob returned to the room. Bitty had not seen Bob at all since he woke up and Jack very little, but when they entered the room, Jack made a beeline for the bed.

"How do you feel?" Jack asked from the side of the bed, where he'd placed one hand on the rail and reached out the other, as if to touch Bitty's head, but he stopped at the last moment and placed it on the rail as well.

"I'm okay," said Bitty. "I can sit up now but moving is still kind of hard."

"But they said you're good enough to go home? If you take it easy?"

"Yeah, they gave me a bunch of pills to take until I feel better. Did you bring any clothes for me? All I have is my uniform and my skates."

Jack looked at Bob before he looked back at Bitty, and the exchange made Bitty feel uneasy. "We have to take you back in your uniform," Jack said, "but we can't go back too early. I was able to find you because you didn't come back right away, so you need to be gone long enough that the me that's still there continues to think you're missing and leaps away to start this chain of events. We need to come up with a story that explains where you went. Everyone expected you to be on the ice and no one saw you leave."

"I'll come back with you," said Coach. "If we say he was injured on the ice, I can insist that I be the one to take him to the hospital."

"They're going to want to go with you to the hospital," said Jack. "Our trainer at the very least, maybe one of the coaches."

"I can make a fuss," said Coach. "There's a high probability that the leap back will tear the stitches, so we can at least have him examined. We might need to mess with the details, but the result will be the same."

"How are we going to explain it?" Jack asked. "He was in the middle of a check when he disappeared — how is that going to translate to a cracked sternum and stitches? He looked like he was stabbed."

"Skate blade?" Bitty suggested. "No one can say I didn't get sliced open with one."

"This is risky," said Bob. "We have his uniform. We can slice it open and take him back to the moment he left. We can say he sustained the injury on the ice —"

"He already has stitches," said Jack.

"You are not slicing me back open," said Bitty. "This hurts enough as it is."

Bob turned to Coach. "Take him back to the arena. There's always an ambulance there anyway, so avoid everyone else and skip back directly in front of them so they have no choice but to help you. It'll at least get you to the hospital without the trainer. Jack, you're going to have to do most of the damage control here. You're going to have to convince everyone that you saw Eric get hurt and leave the ice. It's not going to be easy but if you make enough of an argument and avoid questions, it might work."

"I can do that," said Jack. He turned back to Bitty and this time placed a hand on Bitty's shoulder. "I got your back, okay?"

"Thanks, Jack," said Bitty.

"Do you need help getting back in your uniform? Can you move?" Jack asked. Bitty could move, but just barely, and it took both Jack and Coach to get him back into his gear. They took Bob's idea to slice open both his chest plate and jersey, but even with the slices it was painful to wear. 

"Ready?" Coach asked once he'd tied up Bitty's skate laces. Bitty let out a long, deep breath and then nodded. Jack patted him on the shoulder one more time, awkwardly, before he and Bob left via their own portal. Coach pulled open the fabric of reality in front of them and searched the arena where Bitty had left. It took some time to find a place to return that wouldn't put them popping out of nothing in front of some bored EMTs, but also wasn't so far away that they would run into members of the Samwell staff. They waited for the hallway to clear and Coach took Bitty's hand as they stepped through the portal and back home.

Both the place and time skip was enough to cause excruciating pain in Bitty's already tender chest. He had not been able to walk much in his two days in the hospital, finding it much too hard, so attempting to walk in skates was even worse. It did not matter, though, because his inability to walk just caused more alarm from the waiting EMTs, who immediately grabbed him from Coach's arms and put him on a gurney to go to the hospital.

The stitches had torn completely apart and he was bleeding heavily from his wound, which was enough for the hospital to admit him again. By the time Coach Hall and Coach Murray arrived, he'd been stabilized. "We didn't even see you come off the ice!" Coach Hall said after they'd entered his room.

"I'm sorry, it's all kind of a blur," said Bitty. "My chest hurts really bad. Did we win the game?"

"We did. Are you okay? Jack said it was a skate blade, but I don't know how a blade could have cut right through your chest protector —"

"I think he's very lucky it wasn't worse," said Coach. "And it's very lucky I decided to come up for the game. The nurses said he's going to be very dopey from the pain medication, so if you're going to ask questions about what happened, I don't think he's going to be much help. The good thing is that they were able to stitch him up and he should be able to go home tomorrow once they're certain he won't get an infection. I can bring him back home since you'll need to stay with the team."

Coach Hall looked at Bitty, who closed his eyes rather than attempt to continue answering questions. They'd given him a nice dose of pain medication and he felt very good, albeit very sleepy, so it was easy to pretend that he was too tired to speak. His coaches didn't linger. Once they were gone, Bitty opened his eyes and looked at his father. "Thanks, Dad."

"No problem. Hopefully nobody asks any more questions. You get some rest."

Bitty had no problem complying with the request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dimension Bitty ultimately lands in is also from [Please Refrain from Kissing in Aisle 5](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11862180) \- our Jack has to find the local Bitty to explain that a double is in the hospital. This is the only dimension where local Bitty would believe this story, as at this point in Please Refrain, Bitty and Jack are already matched soulmates.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

It was two more days before Bitty was cleared to leave the hospital and return to his dorm room, and at that point he was ready to just be home. He contemplated, as he and his father drove back to Samwell, if it would just be easier to go back to Madison, but going back to Madison meant that he was hurt enough to miss the semifinals in Philadelphia. He wanted to travel with the team to see the game, even if he couldn't play in it.

Jack was waiting for him in his dorm room when Bitty and Coach arrived; Bitty didn't bother to ask how he got inside without a key. "How was the ride home?" he asked Coach and not Bitty.

"Little rough, but we're here now," said Coach. Jack placed his hands gently on Bitty's arms and directed him toward the bed.

"I can walk just fine on my own, Mr. Zimmermann," said Bitty, but Jack did not let go of him until Bitty sat on his bed, and even then Jack rearranged Bitty's pillows until Bitty smacked his hand and said, "I'm fine, Jack, you can stop fussing."

"Sorry," said Jack. "Do you need anything?"

Bitty sent Jack his best glare, an expression he'd learned from Jack way back when the school year began. Jack put up his hands before he looked back at Coach.

"I think the details of the injury have blown over by now," Jack said. "I spoke to Hall and Murray this morning and they're more focused on our strategy for semifinals without Bitty, although they did send me here to check up on you."

"You can tell them I'm good," said Bitty. "I'm so good, in fact, that they should let me travel with y'all to Philadelphia for the tournament."

Jack's expression darkened so Bitty looked to his father for help. Coach shook his head. "That might not be a good idea, son."

"It's ten days away! My stitches will be out by then and I doubt I'll even be on pain meds. I know I'm not allowed to play but I can at least go! Jack, I can room with you if you're so concerned about my well-being."

"I room with Shitty," said Jack, and Bitty pouted. "We'll see how you are a week from now, but I agree with your dad. Philadelphia's five hours away and you look about ready to pass out after one trip up the stairs."

Bitty grumbled. His dorm did not have an elevator for students, and while he pushed through the ascent to the third floor without complaint, he felt ready for a nap. He looked between his father, who leaned against the desk with his arms crossed, and Jack, who stood beside his bed, poised to help, and said, "Take off my shoes."

Jack immediately untied Bitty's shoes and pulled them off, and then grabbed the blanket that was neatly folded at the foot of the bed and put it on him. "Thank you," said Bitty gruffly. "Now go away, I'm taking a nap, since I'm so useless and all."

"Like I said, we'll see how you are a week from now," said Jack and he hesitated before he gave Bitty a firm pat on the arm and left the room. Bitty shuffled down in the bed a little. More than anything he wanted to turn onto his front and bury his face in his pillow like he usually did, but the thought of turning over made his chest hurt.

"I'll get out of your hair too," said Coach and he made an old man noise as he stood up, which he was entirely too young to do.

"Are you really going to leap all the way to the end of the year? What if I need you before then?" Bitty asked.

"I think Jack's got you covered. You just get better, and I'll see you at move-out, okay? If I missed something big when I get there I'll come back earlier." Bitty watched Coach leave the room as quickly and silently as Jack had. He closed his eyes and attempted to sleep, but Jack had been right; the trip from the hospital plus returning to his room had been a lot. He would not be able to attend the semifinals in this state, but he had ten whole days before the game and a valid doctor's excuse to skip all of his classes. That would be enough time to heal.

He was still attempting to make himself comfortable when his phone began to vibrate by his side. He groaned; texts he could deal with, but an actual phone call required effort and that was more than he had in him at the moment. He ignored the buzzing until it stopped and began to drift off when the door opened again, causing him to jolt in surprise as Suzanne Bittle entered the room.

"Oh, honey, I didn't realize you were sleeping," she said.

"Mama? What the heck are you doing here?" he grumbled; the shock of her appearance made his chest hurt.

"You honestly think I'm going to let my baby boy heal up without my help? Now I may not be a dimensional time whatever like your father so I couldn't just pop up here whenever I wanted, but I made it here as soon as I could. Oh, Lord, you are freezing! Why aren't you under your covers? Where's your electric blanket?"

In a matter of seconds, Suzanne had transitioned Bitty from uncomfortably lying on top of his bed to deep in it and covered with the artificial warmth of an electric blanket. She'd also managed to unearth Senor Bunny from his duffel bag and tucked him in next to Bitty. In addition to this, she removed a steaming thermos of homemade soup that she handed to him. He and Coach had stopped for lunch before they reached campus, but he accepted it gratefully. While he sipped the soup in his bed, Suzanne began picking up dirty clothes off the floor.

"How'd you get in here?" Bitty asked once the flurry of activity had settled down. Suzanne had moved to tidying the books and papers on his desk.

"I happened to run into someone who was leaving just as I came in and your door was unlocked. I tried calling you but you must have been sleeping," she said.

"I was. Did you see Dad?"

Suzanne stopped, her hands around three separate textbooks, and looked over her shoulder at Bitty. Her expression was hard to read, as if she were both upset that she'd missed him and that he had been there in the first place. She turned back to the desk and straightened the pile of books for far too long before she replied. "Was he here?" she asked.

"He just left a minute ago. I'm surprised you didn't run into him on the stairwell."

"I didn't want to see him anyway," she said coolly.

"Mama."

"No, Dicky, I'm allowed to be upset with him," she said and turned again to look at Bitty. "He purposefully hid a large part of himself, he lied to me for years about who he was, and let me believe that he was a good man. I know he's your father and I know you have your own opinion of him. I'm not here to taint that, but I refuse to be involved with a person who quite literally killed the love of my life."

"He did not. He was a stupid kid who made a mistake and accidentally caused a car accident. You barely even knew the man who died and you've been with Dad for twenty years. He's clearly not in the right here but you can't just write him off as a horrible person because he was afraid to tell you something that you could misconstrue. No offense, mother, but you're not the most open-minded of people."

"I'm very open-minded. I don't know what you're talking about," said Suzanne.

Bitty raised his eyebrows. "Yeah? So as an open-minded person you definitely did not force your son to go to prom with a girl when it's been very clear his entire life that he likes boys."

Suzanne pursed her lips together into an unpleasant expression before she got up from the desk chair and sat on the edge of Bitty's bed. She took his hand. "I know you're just trying to convince me to forgive your father, but I had no idea."

"You didn't think it was a possibility. There's no way you would have known Dad had this ability, but you need to accept that he was afraid to tell you. What would you have done in that situation? You made a terrible choice and tried to rectify it, and then you met somebody fantastic and fell in love. He could have gone home and left you alone, but he didn't."

"It's not that simple, Dicky," she said.

"I know. He said he was going to give you time. He'll be here when it's time to pack up for summer, if you want to see him then."

"Summer? That's six weeks from now."

"Did you want to see him sooner?"

She adjusted her posture and patted his hand before she let go of it. "No. What I want to focus on is getting you better. I've taken up way too much of your time already and you need to rest. Did you finish your soup?" she asked and distracted herself with his thermos. It took her too long to close it up and put it back in her bag, but after she did she returned to the bed and put her hand on the side of his face. "I'll let you rest, but I'll come back and bring you some dinner, okay? I booked a week at the Hyatt Place, so my room has a kitchen in it. If you're uncomfortable here I can bring you there, but I figured you'd want your own bed."

"I'm okay here," said Bitty. "Dinner would be nice."

"I love you, sweetie. Keep on top of your pain medicine and text me right away if you need anything. I'm just down the street."

"Okay, Mama."

"When I come back we're going to have a nice long conversation, okay? Don't think you can drop a bomb on me like that and except me not to ask questions, mister."

"Oh Lord, please don't ask questions. I don't have a boyfriend and I don't have ex-boyfriends so maybe we just leave it as it is and you come back and talk to me about home, okay?"

Suzanne kissed his cheek. "Not a chance, honey. I love you so much. I'll see you in a bit."

***

Bitty had hoped for an easy week away from class, but after three days he felt mostly normal, although he was still regularly taking pain medication, and with Suzanne still in town, he couldn't hide his progress. On Thursday she woke him for his nine o'clock Post-Reconstruction history class, which he dreaded on normal days, and even more so when he wasn't completely up to par yet. The only good part of this class was that Jack was in the next room over, so when Bitty packed his belongings and entered the hallway, Jack was waiting for him.

"I thought I saw you in there," Jack said, and he took Bitty's bag from him. It was easier to let him take it than to resist; while Bitty had purposefully packed light, the weight was still a strain. "I would have expected you to skip classes for as long as you could milk your doctor's note."

"Oh trust me, I would, but my mother's in town and she insisted I was well enough to go. She's in town through the weekend, and while I absolutely love her, I am so ready for her to leave. I feel like I'm in high school again," said Bitty.

"She's just looking out for you. Are you headed back or do you have another class right now?"

"No, I'm going back. I want to take a nap. I mean, I kind of already took a nap in class but I want to take a real nap before lunch. Have you seen Ransom and Holster today? They said they'd walk me to art history later."

"They're probably taking their post-practice nap back at the Haus. I'll send them your way after I drop you off."

"Oh, Jack, that's not —"

Bitty stopped resisting when Jack shot him a look, so Bitty put his hands in the pocket of his hoodie and looked at the ground as they walked across the quad to the bridge. Bitty had crossed this bridge several times since that day when he and Jack leapt together, and he was itching to go back to the field dimension again. He was itching to go anywhere outside of his room, but his chest still wasn't a hundred percent and furthermore, he had no way to come back. After they reached the bridge, Bitty looked up at Jack, who seemed perfectly content to walk the rest of the way in silence.

"How was practice?"

"Good," said Jack with a noncommittal shrug. "We moved Shitty back to my line and put Ollie and Wicky together. It looks good, but I keep passing to Shitty and expect you to be there. It's weird to not have you on my right when you've been there for so long."

"I've only been on your line a few weeks, Jack, and Shitty was with you last year."

"I know, but something just feels right when you're there, you know? Like I don't even have to look and I know you're going to be where I need you to be. With Shitty I have to try harder. You play good hockey, Bits. It's going to be a tough game without you."

"Yeah?" Bitty asked.

Jack looked over and smiled. "Yeah."

Bitty expected Jack to drop him off in the lobby of his dorm, but he should have known that Jack would want to escort him all the way up to his room. The stairs were again the most difficult part of the journey, so they took their time up both flights, and when they turned on the landing that led to the second floor, Jack placed his hand on Bitty's back. Bitty looked at it and Jack quickly let go, but neither of them verbally acknowledged it.

"Thanks for walking me back," Bitty said as he opened the door to his room. Jack followed him inside, about to reply, when they both stopped upon seeing that Suzanne was setting up lunch at Bitty's desk. "Oh, Mama, I didn't expect you so soon."

"I finished up your sandwiches so I thought I'd bring 'em over while they were still warm. Oh Jack, it's good to see you again!" Suzanne said to Jack, and he accepted a hug from her. "Thank you so much for everything you did to find Dicky. I'm assuming you're one of those time-warpy guys too, aren't you?"

"Mother, oh my God," said Bitty and he rolled his eyes.

Jack smiled politely. "Yes I am, but as far as I know, there aren't that many of us. Apart from my father, Bitty and your husband are the only other skippers I've ever met."

Suzanne visibly soured at the mention of "your husband," but she recovered quickly and gave Jack a smile. "You're welcome to a sandwich, Jack. As usual, I over prepared and I doubt we'll eat all of this."

"Oh thank you, I'm sure anything made by you is delicious, but I've got to get to my next class," said Jack.

"Take one with you," insisted Suzanne, and so Jack set down Bitty's backpack on the floor and accepted a sandwich that Suzanne wrapped inside two napkins.

"Thank you," Jack said. He looked at Bitty. "Get some rest and don't go to art history without Ransom and Holster to carry your books for you. I'll see you later?"

"Yeah," said Bitty, and he closed the door behind Jack. When he turned around both of Suzanne's eyebrows were raised. "Oh my God, mother, do not. He's just my captain."

"Uh-huh," said Suzanne and she handed him a sandwich. He was halfway through it when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and he smiled at a text from Jack that read _This sandwich is amazing_. When he looked up, Suzanne was smiling at him with a knowing look on her face. He groaned.

***

After a week, Suzanne seemed satisfied enough with Bitty's progress that she returned home, although not before she filled his mini-fridge and storage bins with baking supplies. From her goodbye, Bitty could tell she wasn't looking forward to spending the next few weeks at home alone, but when she left she didn't seem any more receptive to forgiveness than when she arrived. 

Jack also seemed pleased with his progress, although when Bitty expressed his desire to travel with the team to Philadelphia again, Jack continued to resist. Since Jack was just the captain and not the coach, Bitty set up a meeting after practice with Coach Hall and Murray to ask for permission to come. He was sent to the trainer for an evaluation, where he was cleared to travel.

"But do not even bring your skates with you," said Coach Murray when he delivered the go-ahead. "You are not to come anywhere near the ice, understood? Your stitches might be out but you are still walking around with a cracked sternum and you are not cleared for practice or for play."

"Got it," said Bitty.

"Bro!" yelled Ransom and Holster in unison when Bitty approached the team bus at four o'clock the night before the semifinal. It was going to be a long bus ride to Philadelphia but Ransom and Holster's enthusiasm would make up for some of the ennui of travel.

"DO NOT HUG HIM!" bellowed Jack from inside the bus. Ransom and Holster lowered their arms dejectedly. Holster petted Bitty like a puppy and Ransom gently kissed the top of his head. Holster took Bitty's suitcase and loaded it under the bus with the rest of the luggage before the three of them climbed up the steep stairs. Jack sat in one of the front rows, his arms crossed.

"Hi Jack," said Bitty with a smile.

Jack looked over Bitty's outfit; like every roadie, slacks and a tie were required along with the team windbreaker. Jack did not appear pleased that Bitty was in uniform. "Did you go directly to Hall and Murray?" Jack asked.

"Yes, and they said I'm well enough to come with y'all, as long as I don't get on the ice."

"Hmph," said Jack. Bitty walked to his usual seat, about three-fourths of the way to the back of the bus, and sat across from Ransom and Holster. After he sat, he saw Jack get up and sit next to Lardo. When both of them looked back at Bitty, Bitty scrunched his nose at whatever they were plotting.

"You want to play the alphabet game with us, Bits?" Ransom asked.

"Ugh, no, you always win, Rans," said Bitty.

"I am already up to J," said Ransom, and he pointed at Johnson who approached the team bus with his gear bag. "Oh, there! Johnson the goalie."

"Johnson doesn't count, you have to actually see the letter J," said Holster, but at that moment Johnson put a hat on his head with the letter J on it, and Ransom threw up a fist in celebration.

"I think I'm just going to listen to music," said Bitty.

By the time they arrived in Philadelphia, Ransom had won the alphabet game ten times over as well as license plate bingo, and Bitty realized before they hit New York that he was not ready to be upright for this long. Holster offered to be a pillow for him, so he took a nap with his head in Holster's lap and his legs propped up on the window, although when he woke up he had lost all feeling in them and had to grit his teeth when pins and needles began.

"So we going out tonight, or..." Ransom began as they pulled off the highway.

"I am always down for some new city clubbing," said Holster. "Bits? You bring your fake with you?"

"I'm still on medication. Probably not a good idea," said Bitty.

"Aw, your loss, bruh," said Holster. "The moment you're done with those we're hitting the bars and getting all kinds of wasted."

"Sounds good to me," said Bitty. The bus stopped in front of a hotel. Bitty stood, his legs still wobbly, and followed the rest of the team inside. Ransom grabbed Bitty's suitcase and insisted on wheeling it inside, so Bitty walked in empty-handed. He was inside for only a moment before Jack approached him.

"C'mon, we're on the fourth floor," said Jack.

"Did you make Lardo switch rooms so you could keep an eye on me?" Bitty asked. 

Jack handed him a key. "Yes. Is this your bag?"

Jack took Bitty's bag from Ransom and Holster, who gave him a sympathetic look before Bitty followed Jack to the elevator. It was already ten o'clock and despite his nap on the bus, Bitty was exhausted. Jack noticed this and once they were in their room, he pushed Bitty toward the closest bed.

"You need to go to sleep," said Jack.

"You need to stop bossing me around, Jack. I have a cracked sternum; I'm not broken in half. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

Jack dropped his gear bag by an armchair before he sat in it. "I'm sorry, I'm just really nervous about you being here. I know you won't be playing and I know you won't even be on the ice, but if we do well and the guys get hyped up... They're physical. There's nothing that'll stop them from tackling you out of excitement and I'll lose you forever."

"You won't lose me forever, Jack. Even if I do get pushed somewhere else, I can go to a place where you'll find me."

"And where is that? Where are you going to go that I'll find you?"

"I don't know. Your house. I'll go to your home dimension and I'll wait for you in your room. Or maybe I can pop in on your dad and he can take me home."

"Do you know which dimension is mine? It can't be the only one with pupils."

"Leave a marker for me? Like a nice big note that says THIS ONE, BITTLE on your desk?" Bitty said with an attempt to imitate Jack's French Canadian accent. Jack frowned.

"I don't sound like that, Bittle."

"Yes you do."

"Fine. I'll drop it off tonight, but not until after you go to bed." Jack looked pointedly at Bitty, who rolled his eyes. 

"Fine. Let me just brush my teeth."

When Bitty left the bathroom, Jack had turned off most of the lights and had turned down Bitty's bed for him. Bitty climbed in and adjusted his pillows. While his visible wound had settled into a scar, he could still feel the crack in his sternum, which meant he was still in the least amount of pain on his back rather than his front. It was frustrating and not at all natural, but at least it didn't hurt.

"This okay?" Jack asked. He'd taken a piece of hotel stationary and wrote THIS ONE BITTLE on it in large, clear letters. Bitty nodded. "Okay. I'll leave it on my desk and make sure my parents don't throw it away."

"Okay. Goodnight, Jack."

"Goodnight, Bittle."


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Bitty accompanied the team to the arena the next day after breakfast, but it was very odd to watch the team practice from the press box rather than at ice level, since the coaching staff was adamant that he not be on the bench. He'd been to a handful of hockey games in his life, and the boys liked to watch them on television, but these weren't professional players. This was his team, but they looked professional in a big arena like this.

It took a while to get over the awe of seeing his best friends practicing at this level, getting ready for the most important game of their season thus far. A win that day meant a spot in the championship the next, and they were only two games away from being the best D1 hockey team in the country. He had to stop himself from thinking so far ahead — they had to beat Boston College first. Now that he'd level set, he began to see the flaws that led Jack to say the team was good and not great. 

During line rushes, Bitty could see how Jack had to take an extra second to look for Shitty and Einhardt before he would pass to one of them. He could see that Ollie and Wicky, despite their chemistry off the ice, were still learning how to work together on it. It made Bitty very nervous for the game ahead.

It didn't get any better when the game started. Bitty was not alone in the box but he didn't know anyone else there, so he had to keep his emotions to himself as Boston scored on the very first shift and continued to control the momentum from then on. Jack's extra hesitation with his linemates led to turnovers, and Ollie and Wicky's unfamiliarity with each other on the ice resulted in broken plays. At the end of the first period Samwell was down by three goals, and Bitty had to watch the rest of the game through his fingers.

In the second period, Jack was able to make something happen on a power play and scored on a rebound, and in the third Shitty scored after a long shift in the offensive zone, but the two goals were not enough to overcome the growing deficit and they lost five to two. By the time Johnson had been pulled from his net, Bitty left the press box and headed down to the locker room so he could be there when the team returned. He stood just inside the door with his fist out and proceeded to say to everyone who passed, "Great season," until Jack appeared at the end of the line. Jack was about to pass without even looking at Bitty, but Bitty threw out his arm and stopped him.

"Jack," he said, and Jack looked at him. His face said it all; his eyes were brimming with tears and his lips were pressed so tightly together that Bitty could barely see them. "It was a great season."

"Sure," Jack said, then he pushed past Bitty into the locker room. Bitty watched from the doorway as Jack and the others began to strip down. Coach Hall and Coach Murray said a few encouraging words, but no one paid attention to them, and once they finished speaking there was a rush to the showers. Bitty waited with Lardo as the team cleaned up, packed up, and headed back to the bus.

"Maybe we should do something tonight," said Bitty to Lardo as he watched another dejected face go through the door toward the bus. "Maybe not a kegster, since we're in a hotel and all, but something fun with everyone?"

"Yo, kegster it up!" said Shitty loudly, which was not the result that Bitty wanted with Coach Hall and Coach Murray just steps away. "B, you may not be able to partake in the festivities but I'll buy half a root beer keg just for you if it means I can get you to dual kegster with me."

"I seriously doubt I can do a kegster with a broken sternum," said Bitty.

"Nah, bruh, you've got this!" yelled Shitty and he proceeded to grab Bitty full force and push him through the open doorway. Bitty protested with a shout, but it was too late — before he could collide with the ground, he'd leaped somewhere else and landed on a soft surface, although his chest was on fire as he did so. 

"Ooh, ow," he said as he opened his eyes and looked around. Fortunately he did not take Shitty with him, but he was no longer in the arena in Philadelphia. It looked like he was on a beach, but regardless of where he was, he was not at home. He groaned loudly as he sat up. His chest felt tight and painful, but not so bad that he needed new stitches. He wasn't, however, looking forward to the next two leaps that he'd need in order to get back home. It was peaceful on the beach, the breeze warm, and the sand was relatively devoid of people as he sat there watching the water lap up against the shore. He didn't know where he was, exactly, but it didn't really matter, since he didn't plan to stay long. He lay back on the sand and looked at the sky, where the sun peeked out at him from behind steadily passing clouds. He took his time there, letting the pain in his chest subside, until he opened the fabric of reality in front of him and searched for Jack's home.

It took about five minutes to find, just a few to the left on the shelf instead of the right, where Bitty usually searched. Jack's marker in his bedroom was blatantly placed for him: a note in stationary from their hotel with the words THIS ONE BITTLE on it. Bitty climbed through the portal and held in his groan of pain as he made the transition from the sandy shore to Jack's bedroom. The pulling on his chest was worse this trip, but he peered into his shirt and did not see any blood, so he was still okay. He brushed the sand off his clothes, kicked off his shoes, and climbed into Jack's bed to wait.

"There you are," said Jack. 

Bitty opened his eyes. He must have fallen asleep because Jack woke him up. Jack was dressed in his usual post-game suit, although he didn't have his jacket with him. Bitty shifted in the bed, which caused his chest to hurt, and so he just groaned in response. 

"Oh God," Jack said, "how many times did you have to skip before you ended up here? Don't try to get up."

"No, Jack, I'm fine. It was just the one time to get here after I ended up somewhere else."

Bitty attempted to sit up but Jack pushed his shoulders to keep him down. "No, stay. I brought your pain meds in case you needed them. I'll go grab you a glass of water. Stay here and don't move —"

"Jack, I'm fine, I promise."

"Do you know how worried I was about you?" Jack asked, although he looked more furious than worried. "Do you know how hard it was to not skip immediately when Lardo and Shitty said you just disappeared in the hallway after Shitty knocked you over? God, Bittle, I was convinced you were in some series of skips and I was going to find you bleeding out on the shore of the Pond again. Do you — do you know what that did to me to see you like that?"

"Jack," said Bitty. Jack fell onto the bed and pressed his palms into his eyes. "I'm sorry. I know you didn't want me to come, but I wanted to be there for y'all. Win or lose, I wanted to make sure you were okay. That's why we put this note here, didn't we? So you could always find me in one piece."

Jack pulled his hands away from his eyes and Bitty frowned to see that they were wet. "We have to figure out this tether thing. If you're going to keep skipping when you get hit, I want you to be able to get home. I can't look for you every time, because I — "

"No, Jack, I don't want to put that burden on you either."

"— I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you."

The pain was mostly gone now that he was upright, so Bitty leaned forward and put both of his arms around Jack from the side. Jack hung his head and looked down into his lap while Bitty embraced him. "We'll figure something out," said Bitty. "I'll make an effort to actually meditate. I don't want to do this to you."

"I'm so worried about you," said Jack and he tilted his head so it rested against Bitty's. Bitty didn't know what to say, so he sat there holding Jack until Jack's breathing evened and he stood. "C'mon, let's talk to my dad. He might have an idea, and he wanted to hear about the game anyway."

"Jack, I'm so sorry about the game."

Jack shook his head. "It's fine. You were right, we had a great season. We'll get it next year."

"Right. Next year," said Bitty. He got out of the bed and put his shoes back on before he followed Jack downstairs. Like the last time, Jack made a lot of noise but didn't leave the staircase until he heard: "Jack? That you?"

"Yep," he called. 

Bob appeared from the living room, a pair of reading glasses at the end of his nose. "Oh, Eric, you're here too. Are you sure it's safe to travel yet?"

"He didn't have a choice," said Jack. "I was hoping we could talk to you about that. Hi Maman."

"Hi sweetie," said Alicia, who entered the hallway as well and gave Jack a kiss before she turned to Bitty and gave him a gentle hug. "How was your game? Wasn't the semifinal tonight?"

Jack pursed his lips together and Alicia frowned before she gave him an extra hug. "I'm sorry. Come on in the living room, dear, and let's talk." Bitty followed Jack and his parents into the living room. He had not seen it the last time he was here, and it made his own living room seem inadequate; it made the hotel back in Philadelphia seem inadequate. Bitty considered removing his shoes before entering, but nobody else did so he politely sat on a couch next to Jack while Bob and Alicia sat opposite them.

"Have you been able to think any more about Bitty's tether?" Jack asked his father. "I put a note upstairs just in case he skipped without me, like he did today, but that's not a long term solution."

"I think I missed something. What's the matter?" Alicia asked.

"I lost my tether a few weeks ago," explained Bitty. "I was in a game and I got hit hard. Usually when that happens I immediately leap somewhere else to avoid the impact, but this was a different kind of hit. Most of the time I get smushed into the glass or just knocked over, but this one had me airborne and I think it might have just fallen off."

"And you can't get home without your tether, can you?" Alicia asked.

"No," said Bob. "You can get anywhere else in existence via the fabric of reality, but you need your tether to bring you back to your home dimension. I'm surprised it fell off in the first place. It's usually so secure around you — did you somehow unbuckle it while you were in the air?"

"Unbuckle?" Bitty asked, his nose crinkled at the thought of it. "How d'you unbuckle a lasso?"

"It's not a lasso, Bits, it's like a seatbelt," said Jack.

"I don't know what kind of tethers y'all have, but mine is a lasso."

"Well that explains why it fell off in the first place," said Bob.

"Now I may not be the best person to talk here," said Alicia, "since I'm not someone who can actually do this at will, but Jack, honey, can't you just share your tether with him?"

Bitty and Jack looked at each other, confused, and then looked back at Alicia, but Bob had just sympathetically patted her hand. "No, baby, it doesn't work like that. I was able to share my tether with you because I love you. I wouldn't be able to stretch it around a stranger if I wanted. You need to have that bond there. You can only tether someone who you would want connected to you for the rest of your life."

"Oh," said Alicia. "Well I'm glad that you love me that way, I suppose." Bob kissed her cheek and Bitty smiled when Jack rolled his eyes. "Is there anything else we can do? If it fell off on the ice during a game, maybe it's still there?"

"I looked for it after he skipped, but I suppose I wouldn't be able to feel it," said Jack, and he grabbed hold of something around his waist. Bitty attempted to grab hold of it as well, but there was nothing there but Jack's pants. Upon realizing that he'd just grabbed Jack's pants, Bitty quickly retracted his hand and blushed hard as he looked back over at Bob and Alicia.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help. When you're trying to figure this thing out on your own, sometimes you don't have the answers," said Bob.

"That's okay," said Bitty. "We'll figure something out eventually. Is it okay that we use Jack's bedroom as a rendezvous point until we do?"

"Of course," said Bob. "If Jack doesn't find you right away, you're welcome to come down here and I can skip you back home."

"Thank you, Bob," said Bitty. He looked at Jack. "You want to get back? You look exhausted. It was a rough game."

"I'm sorry about your game, sweetie," said Alicia.

"I'm okay," said Jack. "Boston's a good team and we didn't have a lot of hope with this one too injured to play." Jack thumbed over at Bitty, who blushed again. Bitty quickly stood and said goodbye. Both Bob and Alicia gave him a hug and he waited for Jack to say his goodbyes. Alicia gave him a long hug, and Bob whispered something to him that Bitty couldn't hear. Jack turned, a little red in the cheeks, and the two of them returned upstairs.

The bed was unmade. While Bitty doubted anyone ever entered this room, he still quickly returned the covers back to how they had been and smoothed everything out before he turned back to Jack, who was standing by the closed door. Jack had a peculiar look on his face which Bitty couldn't read. He stared at Bitty, almost like he was unsure of himself. "Jack?" Bitty asked.

Jack took two steps forward, placed his hand on the side of Bitty's face, and kissed him. Bitty planted his feet so as not to fall over, and willed himself not to go anywhere in reaction to Jack's sudden movement. There was no pain in his chest as he responded to Jack's kiss, delicately returning the affection. Jack removed his hand from the side of Bitty's face and wrapped his arms around Bitty's waist to pull him in close. Jack kissed him again and again, searching for the perfect angle, but each kiss felt more perfect than the last. It was only a minute before Jack let go and stood upright.

Bitty opened his eyes and realized both of his hands were on Jack's chest, gripping his white dress shirt. He had no idea what to say. Jack was staring at him with that same unclear expression, and they stared at each other, not speaking. This made absolutely no sense, that Jack would want to kiss him like this, and then hold him like this, but now that they had, it made complete sense that they had just kissed.

"Jack?" Bitty asked again, which caused Jack to smile.

"Is this okay?" Jack asked.

Bitty was quick to nod. "Yes, it's very okay," he said.

"I'm going to skip us back now," said Jack. Bitty nodded and wrapped his arms around Jack's waist, holding him tight. He felt Jack chuckle in response, and then a gentle press of lips to his head, before Jack backed him up. He tensed at the pull in his chest, but then they were gone from Jack's bedroom and in their hotel room in Philadelphia.

"Are you hurt?" Jack asked carefully. Bitty pulled away from him and touched his chest.

"Just a little, but it's not bad. You can let go of me —" 

Bitty looked down. Jack was not holding him. Instead he felt a secure grip around his waist but could not see anything. He checked his waist and felt exactly what Jack had described, a secure strap buckled in front, kind of like a seatbelt. He looked back up at Jack, who smiled tentatively at him. Bitty rushed forward and Jack met him halfway, kissing him again. "You gave me your tether," Bitty said when they separated, although they remained close, Bitty's hands on Jack's shirt, Jack's hands on Bitty's waist.

"I realized when we got back to the room, those things that my dad said — that's how I feel about you."

"Really?" Bitty asked, and Jack smiled.

"Really. My line didn't feel wrong tonight because I missed you playing on it, it was because I missed _you_. I play better because you're there. I look for you when you're not. I just look for you, Bits. We can still try to find your tether if you want to, and you can put that one back on if we do, but if it's not there, I want to have you where I am instead."

"I want to be where you are, Jack," said Bitty.

"Can I kiss you again?" Jack asked.

"Yes, please," said Bitty, and Jack touched his lips to Bitty's with purpose. Bitty pulled Jack close to him and tried to clear his mind, to focus on the present instead of anything else, but as their lips moved together, the first thought train that passed was of the other Bitty standing at center ice, holding a sign that read _Yo Marry Me Jack Zimmermann_. Maybe that universe wasn't so wrong after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beach that Bitty lands on is also from [Better With Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11388228); it's the beach in nearby Delaware that Drew and Eric visit.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

It was difficult to sleep that first night Bitty wore Jack's tether. They were late going to bed, opting to kiss and talk and hold onto each other before the light turned off. Even after it did, however, Bitty felt the steady pull back toward Jack's dimension. He'd never spent this long with the tug of the tether on his waist, so neither of them were surprised when Bitty awoke the following morning on the floor of Jack's room in Montreal rather than in bed in Philadelphia.

After Jack retrieved Bitty from Montreal and brought him back home, they had an honest conversation as they packed their belongings for the trip home.

"Do you want to tell our friends about this?" Bitty asked as he stuffed his sleep shorts into his bag.

Jack stood on the other side of the room in front of his own open suitcase. He looked down and was silent for a long time before he finally spoke. "It's not that I don't want to. Shitty's my best friend. He would be over the moon if we told him."

"But it's a risk," said Bitty. "Ransom and Holster have been trying to set me up with their rugby friend for weeks, but they couldn't keep a secret if their lives depended on it. It's okay, Jack. I get it."

"I don't like this," Jack said. He shoved a shoe into his suitcase with unnecessary force. "I don't want to hide you. I want to make out with you on the bus on the way home."

Bitty smiled. "I mean, if we sat in the back, we probably could."

Jack groaned in frustration and sat down. Bitty climbed onto the bed next to him and sat close. Jack took Bitty's hand in his. "We have to keep it a secret," said Bitty.

Jack nodded. "Yeah. Not forever...just until I sign with a team."

"So you're going to put the pen down and tell everyone we're together? I think it's going to be longer than that, Jack."

Jack let go of Bitty's hand but pulled Bitty up against him instead. Jack pressed his mouth against the crown of Bitty's head and whispered, "We'll see if I can even make it that far."

Bitty thought about it; if Jack were to sign an NHL contract, it probably wouldn't happen for at least a year. He wanted to run down the hall and tell Lardo, Ransom, and Holster immediately. He wanted to sit next to Jack on the five hour ride back to Samwell and kiss him and hold his hand and plan their first date. He wanted to tell his mother.

He looked up at Jack. "Can I tell my parents?"

Jack didn't hesitate. "I already told my dad before I woke you up this morning." Bitty laughed, and Jack laughed in return, but the mood shifted back just as quickly, the two settling into silence with each other. Bitty felt so comfortable pressed up against Jack's chest like that, holding him around the waist, hearing his heartbeat and his breath. This was all he wanted to do, but he saw the clock on the nightstand next to the bed and knew they were due down in the lobby in less than ten minutes.

"How does your chest feel?" Jack asked. Bitty could feel the sound as it left Jack's body.

"Not awful," said Bitty.

"Is it going to hurt too much if we skip somewhere for a bit? I want more time with you."

"I'll be okay."

Jack opened the fabric of reality in front of them and Bitty watched as he searched for a specific world. It was in a different place on Jack's shelf than on Bitty's, but Bitty recognized it as soon as he pulled it out. Despite the pain he knew would come when they crossed into it, he did not hesitate as he hopped onto the soft earth in the endless field. He spread out in a bed of flowers and happily accepted Jack's kiss, settling together with him in the sunless light as the warm breeze brushed against them.

***

It was the beginning of May and Bitty had put off his sophomore year dorm selection for so long that he received a high-importance email from Student Housing that said if he didn't pick a room by the end of the week, he'd have to find something off-campus. While this caused a thrill of anxiety to flush through him, he still did not select a room and instead headed out toward the Haus with baking ingredients in his bag.

It was a nice day. Winter was finally over and students had emerged from their indoor hangouts to socialize outside in the quad. Bitty had made it about ten feet onto the lawn when John Johnson appeared out of nowhere and approached him. "Oh!" said Bitty. "I didn't see you. Hi, Johnson."

"Hey Bitty. You going to the Haus?"

Bitty patted his extra-full messenger bag. "Yep. Got some jam to make."

Johnson settled into step with him and they reached the sidewalk. "I heard you and Jack have been seeing a lot of each other lately," Johnson said at a normal speaking volume.

Bitty immediately surveyed their surroundings; they were not even close to being alone. A group of freshman were playing frisbee on the grass to their right and four sorority girls were sunbathing on a blanket just steps away from the sidewalk. Bitty laughed nervously and hurried past the sorority girls before he quietly said, "Haha, what?"

"Hey, no worries, man. I know you've been putting off making a decision for next year, so I wanted to make it easier for the two of you. You've got my dibs."

"Um...great?" Bitty asked. "What does that mean?"

They'd reached the end of the quad. Johnson held out his hand and Bitty, still confused by the situation, accepted it. Johnson shook it once, firmly, and then turned in the opposite direction without answering Bitty's question.

"Hey, wait, aren't you coming back to the Haus?" Bitty called after him.

"Nah, I thought I'd stay out for a while," said Johnson over his shoulder, and then he continued south. Bitty watched him go before he turned around and bolted up Jason Street toward the Haus. He dropped off his bag in the kitchen before he ran up the stairs. Jack's door was shut but Johnson's door was open, although he clearly was not in it. Bitty glanced inside Johnson's room before he knocked loudly on Jack's door.

Jack opened it just a moment later and a satisfied grin crept onto his lips. "Hey," he said. Between the shape of his mouth, the look in his eye, and the sound of his voice, Bitty had to swallow hard before he had enough focus in order to verbally respond.

"What are dibs?" Bitty asked.

Jack's entire posture changed as he dropped the alluring demeanor and instead just looked confused. "Dibs? That's how you get a room in the Haus —when someone graduates they pass dibs to their room down to someone else. Why?"

"Johnson just grabbed me in the River Quad and said I had his dibs."

Jack's grin returned. "Nice," he said before he pulled Bitty into the room and shut the door behind them.

Two weeks later, Bitty had successfully passed all of his classes and began to box up his belongings in his dorm when his mother arrived. His broken sternum had officially healed and he had been cleared by the Samwell Hockey training staff for light practice over the summer before he returned to the team in fall, so it was unnecessary for her to fly all the way up from Georgia to help him move into the Haus.

"Your Aunt Judy had a bunch of decor that she was planning to donate after she finished redoing her kitchen, so I brought them along just in case it fit your new place. If not I'm sure we can drop 'em off at the Goodwill before we go to the airport tomorrow," said Suzanne, and she hoisted a suitcase onto the desk for Bitty to peruse.

"Ooh, I'll have to check it out. I've managed to get the boys to throw away that horrible rug from the hallway, but not all of the windows have blinds on them, much less curtains. Don't even get me started on that horrible couch in the den."

"Do you need furniture?" Suzanne asked. "I suppose you can't take any of this with you."

"No, everything's got to stay, but Johnson said he left behind a bunch of stuff for me. He moved out this morning so we should be able to scope it out once I get this all packed up. I think there's a dolly downstairs we can snag if someone else hasn't grabbed it."

"Let me check," said Suzanne and she turned to go, but stopped in her tracks and let out an "Oh!" Bitty turned around to find his father standing in the doorway, dressed in the same clothes Bitty remembered him wearing the last time he was here. It was weird when he began to think about it; for Coach, it was probable that only a few minutes had passed since he last saw his family.

"Hi Dad," said Bitty, but Coach only had eyes for Suzanne, who was blushing bright red despite her refusal to look at him.

"Hey Suzie," said Coach. She looked up but didn't reply. "Figured you might need a dolly. I grabbed this one from the lobby downstairs." 

There was a gray metal dolly at his side. Suzanne looked at it and then at Coach before she said, "Thank you." She did not say anything else, but didn't make a fuss when Coach entered the room and picked up the packing tape from Bitty's dresser.

"Anything ready to go?" he asked.

"Yeah, you can take this with you," said Bitty, and he picked up a box from the desk. Coach quickly stepped forward to take it from him. "It's okay, Dad, I'm fine. All healed up."

"You sure?" Coach asked.

"Yep! I've been cleared to play and everything."

"I don't know how I feel about you playing, what with your tether —"

"Ooh, right," said Bitty with a glance at his mother. "We have a lot to talk about."

Suzanne opted to stay behind after Bitty and Coach filled the dolly with boxes. Coach took the dolly to the service elevator, which was only open on move-in and move-out days, and Bitty followed behind with his large suitcase filled to the brim with clothing. Bitty waited until they were out of the dorm and in the open of the warm summer air before he said, "I don't think she'll admit it to me, and maybe not to you, but she misses you."

"Okay," said Coach, but when Bitty looked at him, he was hiding a smile under his mustache.

"You still need to be careful. She's still pretty upset." Coach nodded brusquely and they continued up Jason Street toward the Haus. "Um, so, about my tether."

"Did you find a way to get it back?" Coach asked.

"Sort of. Did you know you could share your tether with someone else?"

"No. I didn't even know it was possible that it could come off until yours did."

"Yeah, it's possible. Apparently you can only share it with someone who you're deeply connected to, so…" Bitty looked away, feeling a blush rise in his cheeks, and Coach let out a soft laugh.

"So Jack gave you his, did he?"

"Yeah."

"Well I'm glad you boys figured it out then," said Coach. "The tether, I mean. And the rest of it, I suppose."

"He'll be at the Haus when we get there, but don't make a big deal out of it. It's still very likely that he'll sign with a team next year and the league isn't exactly accepting of this sort of thing. I don't want to hurt his chances."

"What about you?" Coach asked. "Are you okay with that?"

"For a little while, yeah. Neither of us expect it to be a secret forever, but I don't want to get in the way of an opportunity because other people are idiots. Once he has a contract and he's settled with a team, he wants to come out. It might just be a bit before it happens. So you can say hi to him when we get there, but save your shovel talk for another day."

"No promises," said Coach.

The Haus was quiet when Coach and Bitty entered. Johnson had moved out that morning and dropped off the key with Bitty before he left town. From the sound of it, no one else was home either, but Bitty remained formal and polite when he stepped into the open doorway of Jack's room. Jack was sitting on his bed with a book and looked up as soon as Bitty appeared.

"Hey. Shitty go home already?" Bitty asked.

"Yeah. Ransom and Holster too."

"So it's just us?" Bitty asked. A sly smile ticked the corner of Jack's mouth as he nodded, but the smile fell right off his face at the sight of Coach.

"Oh, hi Mr. Bittle."

"Hi Jack," said Coach. "Heard a rumor you gave my son your tether."

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you. Now get up and give me a hand with these boxes."

Jack helped Bitty and Coach carry the boxes from the first floor into Bitty's new room, which was directly across the hall from Jack's. The distance was very short and it made Bitty wonder how often they'd hop it to see each other at night, especially since it had become a common practice for Bitty to sneak into Jack's room or Jack to sneak into Bitty's dorm. It was much easier for Jack to sneak over to Bitty, since he could leap right in and since they didn't have to worry about Shitty popping in through the adjoined bathroom. There had been more than one occasion where Bitty had been awoken early in the morning by Shitty barging in and he had to leap away to avoid being discovered. 

He glanced at his new bed, tucked in a nook between his closet and the far wall, and knew Jack was going to spend a lot of time in it.

"What're you up to this summer, Jack?" Coach asked once he and Jack entered the room with two more boxes. Bitty rolled his suitcase into the closet and shut the door on it; he had no plans to unpack until the fall.

"Tomorrow I'm leaving for a prospect camp in Chicago, and then right after that I'm headed out to Providence for theirs. Your wife invited me to come down for the Fourth of July, if that's all right with you, sir," said Jack.

"We'll see if I have any say in that, but I'd love to have you. In the guest room. Which is farther down the hall than your room is here," said Coach, with a nod to Jack's open door. Jack pursed his lips and attempted a pleasant expression, but failed at looking both polite and unafraid. It made Bitty laugh and pat Jack gently on the arm.

"Sweetie, it's okay," said Bitty, but Jack was bright red.

"I'm going to get the last box," he said and darted out of the room.

Bitty shot a look at his father. "Be nice," Bitty said, but Coach just shrugged his shoulders and headed downstairs. Jack returned with the box, which he set on the floor next to the others and then glanced at the door, as if he expected Coach to appear. Coach didn't, so Jack gave Bitty a tentative kiss.

"How much more do you have?" Jack asked.

"Probably just one more trip. I've got my suitcase for the summer still over there since we're not flying out until tomorrow. I'll stay the night in the dorm."

"You should stay the night here," said Jack and he brushed his fingers up and down Bitty's arm for emphasis. Jack's touch hit in all of the right places, but before Bitty could respond, Coach shouted up the stairs: "You coming, son?"

"We'll see," said Bitty. "Things might get weird with my parents being here."

"If not I can pop by you," said Jack, and he nuzzled his nose into Bitty's hair.

"I'll let you know when they go to bed. What time do you leave tomorrow?" Bitty asked.

"My flight's not until two."

"We're leaving campus around ten."

"Come skate with me in the morning," said Jack, still nuzzling against Bitty's hairline, a feeling more tantalizing than the way that Jack's fingers fluttered against his arm.

"Only you would want to skate your last morning on campus," said Bitty, but he agreed, gave Jack a short kiss, and then left the room as Coach shouted again up the stairs.

***

Once Bitty had been moved into the Haus, Coach and Suzanne agreed to go out for dinner. It was a quiet and pleasant evening, but best of all, Bitty watched his parents sneaking glances at each other and doling out subtle compliments until the check came.

"I'm beat," said Bitty when they left the restaurant. "I think I might just go back to the dorm and go to sleep. That's the most activity I've done in one day since before I lost my tether."

"Okay, sweetie," said Suzanne, and she looked over at Coach. "Did you get a hotel?"

"No, I leapt right into the dorm. Do you have a hotel?"

"Yes. There's no reason for you to get your own at this point. You should come back with me."

"You sure?" Coach asked, and Suzanne nodded before she turned to Bitty and gave him a quick hug. While her back was turned Bitty shot his father a thumbs-up sign, which made Coach a little pink in the cheeks. 

"See you tomorrow, son," Coach said when Suzanne let go of him. Coach came in for an awkward, one-armed hug before he and Suzanne turned in the direction of her hotel, and Bitty turned in the direction of the dorm. He sent off a quick text and found Jack waiting for him in his room when he arrived.

Jack woke them unnecessarily early the following morning. "Jack, sweetie, on most days I admire your determination, but it's the first day of summer vacation," said Bitty when Jack grabbed Bitty by the arms and attempted to drag him out of the bed.

"Yeah, and we only have four hours before you leave me for several weeks. Let's get one more skate in before I have to say goodbye to you."

"Do I need to remind you that you have the ability to just leap on over to me at any time? You could spend every night with me if you wanted to."

"Sneaking into your room at night is much different than being with you every day. Come on, I want to see if all that meditation has made a difference."

Bitty grumbled all the way to Faber, all the way through dressing in his gear, and then all the way to the bench. When his skates hit the ice, however, he shut his mouth and looked around. The sun was already up and pouring its morning light into the rink through the large windows at the end of the arena. Jack was still on the bench, so there was no sound apart from Bitty's blades cutting through the fresh ice. It had been weeks since he'd been allowed to play, and in that quiet morning light, he forgot how much he missed it.

He heard Jack's skates clack onto the ice before he saw them. Bitty spun around, looking at the empty stands and the sunlight before he settled on Jack, smiling at him with golden beams resting on his dark hair. "You look like you're in heaven," said Jack.

Bitty smiled. "I don't think I realized how much I missed this."

"You want to do a few laps before we start?"

Bitty reached out his hand for Jack, who took it, and they skated a long, slow lap around the entire rink. Bitty looked at everything, from the windows to the bleachers to the glass, and once he and Jack had completed an entire lap, he felt a decision sink deep inside of him. He'd have to keep an eye out in the coming years for the sign, to see if it started as an inside joke and turned into something more, or if he'd have to make it himself. Either way, he was going to propose to Jack on this ice, in front of all of their friends, and Jack was going to say yes. He didn't need Jack's tether to understand their connection, and he didn't need the vision of a possible future to tell him what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. The past four weeks with Jack, and by extension the entire year with Jack, had led him to the indelible conclusion that they were meant to be together, and Faber was the first step in that journey toward the rest of their lives.

"What?" Jack asked.

Bitty knew he had been staring, but he just smiled and shrugged. "Nothing," he said.

"You ready?"

"Oh yeah," said Bitty. He released Jack's hand and started in the opposite direction. In the silence of the arena Bitty could hear Jack attempt to keep up with him. He could outrun Jack any day of the week, but that wasn't the point, so he kept his speed low, kept his thoughts clear, and waited for the moment when Jack collided with him.

It happened behind the goal, right when Bitty reached the boards. Jack shoved into him hard and he hit the glass, the sound reverberating through the empty rink. Jack held tight to him and they fell down onto the ice.

"Did you skip?" Jack asked. "I didn't feel anything."

"No," said Bitty. "Maybe I can't with you. Maybe because we're tethered together, I'm stuck in the same place as you."

"We've both skipped since I gave you my tether. You never came with me. Maybe you've gotten over it."

"Maybe," said Bitty. He attempted to get up but Jack held him tightly around the waist, which caused Bitty to laugh. "Jack, let go."

"Mmm, maybe just a little longer."

Bitty shifted onto his back so he could look at his boyfriend. Jack smiled at him and leaned in for a kiss. Bitty kissed him back, but Jack let go quickly. "Hey, have you ever been skating at Rockefeller Center? You know, where they have the big Christmas tree?"

"No, I can't say I have," said Bitty.

"Do you want to?" 

Bitty smiled and nuzzled at the scar on Jack's chin. "Take me there," he whispered. Within a moment, they were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Pop by [my tumblr](https://foryouandbits.tumblr.com/) and say hi!


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